


Mafia Daughters

by chardougla



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mob, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Italian Mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-02-29 21:58:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18787033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chardougla/pseuds/chardougla
Summary: The Salvatores and Mikaelsons had turned the streets of Chicago red with each other's blood since as long as anyone can remember. But times are changing. The old Dons are dead, and a new enemy has risen. The Lockwoods have allied with the powerful Bennetino family in New Orleans, and are prepared to make a move. In the face of this threat, old enemies have linked themselves in marriage alliances. The clouds of war are gathering over the streets of Chicago, and have pulled Caroline Salvatore back into the life she so very wanted to leave.





	1. Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Pulled a few things from some very good TVD mob stories I've read. TVD and TO Mafia is such a fun scenario, one that lends itself very well to the characters. I hope it's fun and be sure to let me know your thoughts in the comments!

**Chicago**

Caroline was, she had decided, an idiot. The worst kind of idiot, because she had been given ample examples of what would happen. She was a Mafia daughter. She had always been a Mafia daughter. And despite the fact that her father had allowed her to go to college, live under the name “Caroline Forbes,” even have a boyfriend, she should’ve known better than to think she wasn’t going to be inevitably married off as some backwards bargaining chip, like every other Mafia daughter she’d ever known.

Oh god, Matt. She’d hardly had a chance to think about him, with all the rush. He was the perfect boyfriend, had always been extremely patient with her, simple, the exact opposite of the rest of her life. She could hardly even imagine what he was going through.

“Caroline, it’s time,” Elena Salvatore, formerly Elena Petrova, her sister-in-law, said.

Caroline forced a smile at the other woman. “Ok, I’m ready,” she lied. She could tell Elena didn’t buy it. Elena had been in the exact same shoes as Caroline 8 years ago, when she married a total stranger, Caroline’s half brother Damon Salvatore, to secure her family’s alliance to the Salvatore family. Over time she and Damon had formed a strong and loving marriage, something Caroline couldn’t see happening to her. Damon had a reputation as a loose cannon, and was known to be savage and vicious, but no one, no matter how much Damon hated Giuseppe, ever thought he could’ve had a part in his father’s death. Something that couldn’t be said for Caroline’s husband to be.

No one could be sure whether or not Klaus Mikaelson had killed his father, but Mikael had been murdered, and his body barely in the ground before Klaus and Elijah jointly took over the Mikaelson criminal operations, something that Mikael would never have allowed or wanted. This was the man she was marrying, a man who was capable of killing his father. Yet, when the heirs of the Lockwood and Bennetino crime families had been engaged, signalling the Bennetino’s were entering the Chicago market, Damon and Elijah had decided that an alliance was in order, with Caroline marrying Klaus and Rebekah Mikaelson marrying Caroline’s other half brother, Stefan Salvatore.

Walking through the doors, she saw Damon standing in the role that her father would’ve played just a month ago, and she fought back a sudden surge of tears. Though she knew he and her brothers had a tumultuous relationship, Giuseppe had doted on her, and she missed him dearly. Taking Damon’s arm, she began the walk down the aisle.

“You look stunning Care,” Damon said, with her ignoring the compliment.

“If he lays a hand on you, Caroline,” Damon continued, “you just say the word, and we’ll get you out of there.” She continued to ignore him. She was on great terms with her brothers, them having intervened to protect her from Lily Salvatore’s spite towards Giuseppe’s bastard daughter, and she in turn shielding them when Giuseppe inevitably raised his hand against them. She loved them, but they had both betrayed her, had sold her like chattle to the family her father had once said he would burn alive if he could. Arriving at the altar, her raven-haired brother gracefully handed her off to her new husband, who was watching her with an unreadable gaze.

The ceremony went off without a hitch. They both dutifully said “I do,” and when the time came to kiss, she followed through with her part, a part she fervently wished she had enjoyed far less. It was unfair, she had decided, that a man so vile be so attractive. There were a flurry of pictures at the kiss, and inwardly she cringed with the realization that Matt would probably find out about the marriage through a tabloid article.

The reception was somehow worse. The food was excellent, of course, Rebekah was clearly a gifted event planner, and Caroline viewed everything with a professional appreciation as a way to distract from her situation, knowing it would probably be her and Elena planning Stefan and Rebekah’s wedding in a month or two. Elijah gave a very polite speech welcoming her into the family, with promises to treat her as one of their own, and declaring it the beginning of a beautiful friendship between their families. Then Rebekah got up.

“Well I doubt anyone was as shocked as I was when I heard Nik was actually getting married, especially to a Salvatore,” she began to a chorus of chuckles, “my heart is happy for him because from what little I’ve met of my new sister Caroline, I’m sure she will be just the thing to settle my wild brother down. To Caroline and Klaus!” As Caroline raised her glass, she couldn’t help but be amused by the last statement. Rebekah and her had met only briefly, with the other blonde running her eyes up and down Caroline before skeptically saying, “So, you’re the one,” and hustling off without waiting for a reply.

Suddenly, music began to play, and she realized it was time for their first dance. Her heart was in her throat as she and Klaus rose. It was halfway through that dance that he said his first words to her.

“You know, you’re quite the dancer,” he said.

“Well, I’ve had training,” she informed him.

“I know,” he replied, to which she found she didn’t have a response.

“Listen about your father-” he began but she cut him off.

“Don’t. Seriously,” she warned him. One subject they were absolutely not going to discuss was her father. Not with _him._

“Very well then,” he said, “onto more mannered subjects then like how ravishing you look in this dress.”

She looked at him incredulously. “Are you trying to _flirt_ with me?”

He chuckled. “Well love, we are married. Flirting is practically in the job description.” Again Caroline found herself without a response. Fortunately at that time the song ended, and Klaus went to dance with his mother.

Over the next hour she danced with all her new family members. Elijah was all old world charm, promising to help her with anything she required. Kol was the opposite, all smirks and leers, although he also promised to help her with _anything_ she required. She also danced with their older brother Finn, who informed her that should she need legal counsel moving forward, she should call him.

After that she danced with her brothers, and Elena’s brother Jeremy, the head of the Bulgarian Mafia, and a one time suitor of hers. She also danced with the head of the Lebonair family, David, Elijah’s brother in law. She finally had managed to get a respite over by the champagne table when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around she found herself face to face with Alasdair Gordon.

“Excuse me Mrs. Mikaelson,” he said, with Caroline realizing then that was her new name, “but I was hoping I might have the honor of a dance?”

Before she could help herself she sighed and said, “What the hell, why not? It isn’t like I haven’t danced with everyone else.”

Fortunately, Alasdair only chuckled at her remarks, and offered her his arm. As they approached the dance floor, Caroline examined the man she had only heard vague stories about. Supposedly having met Klaus during his time in New Orleans, Alasdair Gordon had risen to the rank of Spymaster of the Mikaelson crime syndicate. He was known for his trademark white suit, and his abilities with knives. Up close he was a tall man, with dark, slicked back hair and a relatively plain face marred by a large scar that traced from his left ear to his nose. About halfway through their dance he spoke again.

“You know,” he began, “you aced your finals this semester at Whitmore College. A’s across the board.”

Deliberately misunderstanding her startled look, he shrugged. “Just figured you’d want to know, especially since your advisor says you’ve been working so hard to get into grad school. Whitmore has an online school you know, in case you want to finish your studies here.”

While anyone else would see a nice offer and friendly advice, Caroline was a Mafia daughter. She understood the language. Alasdair was warning her that he knew everything about her college life. Everything, including a certain boyfriend. She couldn’t bear the thought of what Klaus might do if he found out about Matt.

“Thank you,” she finally said, “but I think it’s best to cut ties with that part of my life. It was a silly dream anyways.” _I’m over my boyfriend, Klaus has nothing to worry about, please don’t tell him._

Alasdair gave her a long look, the corners of his mouth curving slightly upwards in a smile, as the song ended.

“Enjoy your wedding night, Mrs. Mikaelson,” he said, giving her a slight bow and heading off, leaving Caroline chewing her lip and realizing her situation was even more dangerous than she realized.

 

\----------

 

Alasdair strode through the halls of the Mikaelson Manor. It was late, and outside of the security night shift most of the residents were asleep. He sighed, loosening his collar as he headed towards the study. He hated weddings. Mafia weddings were especially tedious. They dragged on for hours, and the poor brides more often than not were at best casual acquaintances with their new husbands. Tonight Caroline couldn’t even boast that.

He just hoped this would go better than Klaus’ first marriage. He had been pleasantly surprised by Caroline’s response to his warning during their dance. She was clearly well versed in their world. The O’Connell girl had been smart, but sheltered, and never adjusted to the world she was thrust into. This Salvatore girl seemed different. He hoped she was different. They couldn’t afford another repeat of that tragedy.

Entering the study he was so engrossed in his thoughts that it took him a full two seconds to notice Klaus was sitting at his desk.

“Klaus,” he said, surprised.

The man was clearly not in the mood. “Not a bloody word Alasdair,” he warned.

Alasdair put his hands up in surrender. “Hey man, I’m all for it. We certainly don’t want the Salvatores doubting your intentions with Caroline like Declan did with Cami.”

Klaus glared at him. “I never laid a finger on Cami.”

“Not maliciously no,” Alasdair agreed, sliding into his seat. “Still,” he continued, “the Irish never believed that, and I certainly don’t need to remind you how that ended.”

“No,” Klaus growled, “you do not.” Alasdair nodded grimly. How it had ended was after Cami’s death in childbirth, her cousin and his gang had defected to the Bennetinos, and together they had launched an attack that had given Alasdair his scar, driven the Mikaelsons out of New Orleans, and resulted in the death of Klaus’ younger brother Henrik.

“A lot of hard lessons learned in New Orleans,” he murmured, and Klaus nodded in agreement.

Klaus then looked at Alasdair quizzically. “What are you doing here anyway? It’s practically 2 am.”

Alasdair shrugged. “Well, my wife is in Virginia supervising the collecting of your new wife’s belongings, so without the prospect of nostalgia sex,” that drew a small chuckle out of Klaus, “I decided to get a headstart on some work, put together my morning report for you and Elijah.”

“Well,” Klaus said, spreading his arms, “I’m here, lay it on me.”

Alasdair, nodded, leaning forward. “Well, keeping with the Virginia theme, it seems your wife’s ex-boyfriend has booked a flight to Chicago.”

Klaus raised his eyebrows. “That was fast.”

“He might not even know about the wedding yet,” Alasdair admitted. “Poor bastard probably just wants to know what the hell is going on. Either way, he arrives in 2 days.”

“And you have an idea of how to handle it,” Klaus said. Alasdair smiled. After so many years working together they knew each other almost too well.

“I was thinking,” he began, “maybe we don’t immediately introduce him to the floor of Lake Michigan.”

Klaus raised his eyebrows. “Going soft there mate?”

Alasdair chuckled. “Hardly,” he said, “but I’ve gotten the impression she really likes this boy.”

“Are you trying to make me more or less in favor of killing him?” Klaus wondered, provoking another laugh out of Alasdair.

“I only mean,” Alasdair explained, “that we’ve already established the importance of currying Caroline’s favor.”

“Ahhhh,” Klaus said, “so you think having her boyfriend sleep with the fishes would sabotage that effort.”

Alasdair nodded. “Rhona gets in tomorrow evening, and I was thinking we intercept him after he lands and explain to him, gently, why coming here was a mistake.”

Klaus looked pensive. “And if he’s stubborn?”

“We could have a supervised sit down with him and Caroline, and impress upon her the importance of him leaving the city. Seeing her face might be the closure he needs.”

“And if that’s not enough?” Klaus wondered.

“At that point,” Alasdair said, “I think Caroline will understand we’ve been more than reasonable.” Klaus grinned like a shark.

The door then opened, and in strode Marcel Gerrard. He also raised his eyebrow at the sight of Klaus, which earned him a glare from Klaus and a small shake of the head from Alasdair.

“Fellas,” Marcel greeted them. “What’s with the late night tryst? What’re we talking about?”

“Klaus’ new wife,” Alasdair said. “And some business,” he added after Klaus glowered at him.”

Marcel plopped down next to Alasdair. “Well this feels familiar, the three of us up late talking business while Klaus avoids his wife,” he joked.

“I’ll admit,” Alasdair said while Klaus gave Marcel the death stare, “she surprised me at the wedding. She’s smart, and knows how to talk the talk.”

“The Vulture doesn’t know everything about someone before they’ve met?” Marcel exclaimed in mock surprise, “I’m shocked.”

Alasdair narrowed his eyes at Marcel. Despite the two both coming up in Klaus’ employ together in New Orleans, the two men shared a mutual dislike.

“Well thankfully I won’t have that problem at the next wedding we attend,” Alasdair said. “After all, Rebekah is hardly someone who holds in her secrets.” As Klaus laughed in agreement, Alasdair locked eyes with Marcel. _I may not know everything, Marcel, but I know far more about you than you’re comfortable with, remember_   _that._ Marcel nodded. Message received.

“So,” Klaus said, “let’s talk Lockwoods.”


	2. And they were roommates!

**Mystic Falls**

“Matt this is a bad idea,” Bonnie pleaded with her friend as they walked back to her apartment.

“I just want answers Bon,” Matt said as they got into the elevator. “I mean Bonnie, she just left without telling anyone. And then the texts. I mean look at these.” He showed her his phone. “‘I’m going back home to Chicago. Don’t call me. Don’t come find me. We’re done. Have a nice life.’ Does that sound like our Caroline to you?”

Bonnie shook her head. It wasn’t at all like her roommate. In fact, it reminded her of something out of her childhood. But she wasn’t going to go there. Sometimes she had to remind herself she wasn’t Bonaventura Bennetino, heir to the Bennetino famiglia. She was Bonnie Bennett, college junior, business major. Usually it was for annoying things like people not going out of their way to help her, but on times like today it was nice to remember she wasn’t part of that life, at least for the next year and a half.

Rounding the corner she saw her door was open, and heard voices. Exchanging confused looks with Matt, she hurried the remaining way to her room, charged in, and found herself looking at Rhona Gordon sitting in Bonnie’s chair, casually reading Caroline’s latest edition of Cosmos.

Bonnie’s breath caught in her throat. Rhona Gordon was one of the most famous hitwomen in New Orleans. She had terrorized the French Quarter for years on behalf of Klaus Mikaelson, and had sent several of Bonnie’s cousins to early graves. While Bonnie had certainly never had the misfortune of meeting the woman known in the streets as “The Angel of Death,” she had seen pictures. But here she was, now, in Bonnie’s room.

Rhona was beautiful, Dark, curly hair framed a freckled face and soft brown eyes. In spite of her terror, Bonnie couldn’t help but be jealous of how well the other woman wore her dark leather jacket. Then Bonnie noticed the silencer of the pistol hidden within that jacket, and the terror returned, just as strong as before. If Rhona was in her apartment, that could only mean one thing.

But before she could react, Rhona lifted her head and noticed Bonnie and Matt. “Ah, the roommate and boyfriend,” she announced, putting down the magazine. _Roommate?_ Bonnie thought, _wait, that means-_

“You know Caroline?” Matt asked.

“Know feels like a strong word,” Rhona clarified. “I’m here to pick up her things.”

“You mean sit around and watch us take her things down to the van,” Alaric Saltzman, Bonnie’s academic advisor, said, coming out of Caroline’s bedroom. “This would go a lot faster if you would help me and Emilio.”

“And risk ruining these nails?” Rhona staggered back in mock horror. “These were expensive! Besides, that’s the last load anyways.”

“Ric?” Bonnie asked, completely befuddled at this point. What was her academic advisor doing helping a mafia hitwoman move her roommate’s stuff out?

“Hey Bonnie, Matt,” Alaric greeted them, completely ignoring their confusion. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, this’ll be my last semester at Whitmore. I’m moving back home to be with family. The department will assign you new advisors next semester. See ya!” He then practically bolted out of the room before he could be asked any questions.

Bonnie and Matt turned back to Rhona, who was very clearly attempting to hold back laughter. Matt had clearly had enough.

“Ok who are you?” he demanded, “And for the love of God, what is going on with Caroline?”

“My name is Rhona Gordon,” Rhona replied, “and Caroline had to go home because of familial obligations.”

“That’s not an answer,” Bonnie challenged.

“Well it’s the one you’re getting,” Rhona retorted, and turned her gaze to Bonnie. Bonnie suddenly cursed her skin tone. In a small preppy Virginia college, it made her stand out, and right at this moment that was the last thing she wanted to be doing.

“What was your name again?” Rhona asked her.

“Bonnie,” Bonnie replied.

“Last name?”

“Bennett”

“Bonnie Bennett,” Rhona repeated, as if savoring each word. Matt opened his mouth again, but Rhona held up a finger to silence him. “Bonnie wouldn’t happen to be short for anything, would it?”

_Shit_ “Actually no,” Bonnie was scrambling. “My mom was really into Bonnie and Clyde, so it was just Bonnie.”

“Uh huh,” Rhona drawled, and Bonnie’s heart sank. _She knows._ Matt, bless him, had a one track mind and changed the subject.

“Is Caroline ever coming back?” he asked, and Rhona swung her gaze to him.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” she replied, before going back to examining Bonnie. Bonnie felt like she was under a microscope as Rhona’s predatory gaze finally locked onto Bonnie’s.

“Can I at least call her, talk to her?” Matt asked again.

“You have a phone, do you not?” Rhona said, not breaking eye contact with Bonnie.

“Well yes but she’s not answering any of my calls.”

“Then there’s your answer,” Rhona replied, before stretching luxuriously and rising to her feet. “Well I must be going. It was nice meeting you lover boy,” she said, patting Matt on the cheek. “You too, _Bon_ nie _Bennet_ t,” she added, winking at Bonnie as she left.

Bonnie sat down at her dining table with a thump. Matt looked at her, before hurrying off to go find Rhona, presumably to ask more questions he wasn’t going to get answers to. Bonnie grabbed her computer, opening it and typing “Klaus Mikaelson” into the search bar. Clicking the first article that came up, her jaw dropped. There was Caroline, beautiful in a resplendent wedding dress, across from Klaus Mikaelson. The headline read _Blood feud ends as Mikaelson head marries Salvatore scion in wedding of the century!_ Bonnie scanned the rest of the article and without even thinking reached for her phone and dialed.

When the line picked up she didn’t even wait for a greeting. “Nona,” she said, “I need to tell you something.”

 

**New Orleans**

“Don’t worry baby I will take care of everything,” Sheila Bennetino told her granddaughter, and she hung up the phone. “Alphonz,” she called, and the African Capo known on the streets as Papa Tunde knelt at her side.

“Donna,” he greeted her.

“Rhona Gordon was in Bonaventura’s apartment today,” she informed him. At his suddenly worried gaze she waved her hand. “Don’t worry, she didn’t touch her. Apparently she was there to clean out Bonaventura’s roommate’s things.”

Tunde’s face twisted in confusion. “Her roommate, Donna?”

“Her roommate,” Sheila’s voice became flat with anger, “Caroline _Salvatore._ ” And Tunde’s face cleared with understanding and shock.

“Yes,” Sheila said, “Bonaventura has been rooming with the daughter of Giuseppe Salvatore for 3 years, and we had no idea. I want you to go to Virginia, pick Bonaventura up, and take her to Chicago. Tell Vincent we are accelerating the timeline. I want Bonaventura and that Lockwood boy married ASAP. Don’t make it flashy, we don’t need to outshine those ridiculous families. We need those Lockwoods heeled and brought into the fold.”

“It will be done Donna,” Tunde rose, placing his fedora back on his head. “And after the wedding, what is your wish for me?”

“Do what you do best Alphonz,” she replied. “Start a war.”

“Yes Donna,” he grinned, before turning to leave.

“Oh and Alphonz?” she called. “Those stronzos in charge of my granddaughter’s security? The ones who somehow missed that she was rooming with a Salvatore and let that Gordon witch into her room? I want them dealt with, do you understand me?” Tunde nodded and left the room.

 

**Chicago**

Caroline was sick of this house. The Mikaelson manor was as flashy and ornate as it was dark and impersonal. And worst of all, she was being wooed nonstop by a monster. It was awful, especially because he was so good at it. Right now they were eating an evening meal, alone. Outside of his unexpected kindness on her wedding night he had respected her wishes to avoid family dinner tonight. Both of those were only temporary, she knew. The marriage was too important to leave unconsummated, and try as she might, she couldn’t ignore the rest of the clan for long.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “Alasdair tells me you’re majoring in event planning?”

Suddenly it was all too much. His presence, the reminder that Alasdair knew everything about her college life, this house, this stupid situation that she was in, everything. She got up to leave.

He stopped her. “Oh come one Caroline, take a chance,” he pleaded. She scoffed, but he didn’t let go. “Talk to me,” he asked. “Come on, get to know me!” He then flashed his annoyingly effective and attractive smirk. “I dare you.”

She sighed. She wasn’t going to be able to keep avoiding talking to him, and maybe if she indulged him now he’d delay the inevitable consummating of the marriage.

“Fine,” she said, sitting down again. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“I wanna talk about you,” he said, and again she scoffed. “I mean it,” he insisted. “Your hopes, your dreams, everything you want in life. We’re married, Caroline. I want to feel like it.”

Caroline didn’t know which was worse. That she believed he meant it, or that a part of her agreed with him. She didn’t want to spend her entire life married to a stranger.

Fortunately, she was saved from her internal crisis by the door crashing open. A dark haired woman in a black leather jacket strode in, followed shortly by Alasdair, who leaned against the door frame.

“Rhona!” Klaus greeted the woman. “Back so soon from Virginia? This is my new wife, Caroline. Caroline, this is Alasdair’s wife-”

The woman, Rhona, interrupted him. “Hi,” she said to Caroline, before turning to Klaus. “I need to talk to you.” she informed him, before bending over to whisper in his ear.

Caroline watched Klaus’ expression change from confusion to shock, to completely emotionless. Rhona finished talking, and Caroline suddenly found herself the object of all 3 gazes.

“What?” she asked, “What is it?”

“Your roommate,” Klaus began, “Bonnie Bennett-”

“Bonnie?” Caroline interrupted him. “What happened? I swear if you hurt her-”

Klaus held up a hand to stop her, examining her. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“No idea of what?” Caroline asked.

“Your roommate,” Klaus said, “Bonnie Bennett. Her real name is Bonaventura Bennetino. She is the heir to the Bennetino famiglia in New Orleans.”

As the waves of shock rolled over her, Caroline could only muster one response.

“Seriously?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nona = Grandma  
> stronzo = dumbass


	3. Oooo I like your accent where you from?

**Chicago**

His plane was taxiing into the gate, but all Matt could do was keep reading the same headline and article he’d been reading since he saw it in his seat back. Even though he had read it about a hundred times, he still couldn’t quite believe it. There was no way Caroline could be married. There was no way she could be part of the mafia. There was no way. She was Caroline,  _ his  _ Caroline. Slightly neurotic, definitely OCD, always quick to giggle, could never hurt a fly. She wasn’t part of the mafia. She couldn’t be.

But there she was, undeniably Caroline, on the front cover of a tabloid, in a white dress, kissing this ‘Klaus’ character. And there was the abrupt way she had just left, and then that encounter with the Rhona woman in Caroline’s apartment. All of it made no sense, and while he still didn’t really believe Caroline was married, a part of him couldn’t deny the possibility it was true.

As he made his way off the plane he was stopped at the door by one of the flight attendants.

“Sir,” the attendant said, “there’s something for you at the Heinz rental car desk.”

“Rental car desk?” Matt asked, “But I didn’t order a rental car.”

“Please sir, it’s right by the baggage claim.” The flight attendant looked scared. “Just promise me you’ll go ok.”

“Ok,” Matt said, and the attendant looked very relieved. Matt had a bad feeling about this.

He made his way to the baggage claim, he eventually saw the Heinz desk. Behind it was a man in a white suit, his face obscured by a newspaper he was reading. As Matt walked towards the desk he remembered the deputy training course he once took. Scanning his surroundings, he tried to look for possible ambushers. A woman wrangling her kids, a college kid picking his nose, Rhona smirking at him…  _ Wait. _ His head snapped back to Rhona, who winked at him then tilted her head towards the desk. Looking back to the desk, he saw that the newspaper was down now, with the man looking at him. He beckoned Matt to come closer.

“Hello Matt,” the man greeted him.

“How do you know my name,” Matt asked.

The man smiled at him. “I’m told you’ve already met my lovely wife Rhona,” he said, and Matt turned to see Rhona had come up behind him. “My name is Alasdair Gordon,” Alasdair continued. “I’m an associate of Mrs. Mikaelson.”

“Mrs. Mikaels- wait you mean Caroline?” Matt asked.

Alasdair made eye contact with Rhona, smirked, then looked back at Matt. Tilting his head towards the door, he said, “Let’s take a ride.”

Matt saw there was a limo parked outside. “What about my bags?” he asked.

“Already in the trunk,” Alasdair assured him.

They got in the limo, which Matt was pretty sure was the nicest car he’d ever been in. Matt sat in the corner, with Alasdair next to him and Rhona at the other end of the limo. Matt noted with alarm she was also holding a pistol with a silencer, and she was studying him like he was a piece of meat. As the car began to move Alasdair pulled a folder out of his suit and began to read.

“Matt Donovan. College junior, 3.54 GPA as a business major, which is where you met Caroline. You were born and raised in Mystic Falls. You never knew your father, and your mother was an alcoholic who was in and out of your life. You lost your sister, Vicki, to an overdose when you were 15. Your senior year you were starting QB for the football team. You might’ve gotten a scholarship, but you broke your hand in training camp and missed the whole season. No matter, you worked full time at the local bar, bussed tables, pulled a 4.0 your senior year and managed to afford a half ride to Whitmore College. You’re a good man, a great boyfriend I’m sure, and,” he said, snapping the folder shut and fixing Matt with an icy blue stare,” you are  _ very _ lucky Klaus wants his wife to like him.”

“Let me tell you how this could’ve gone,” Alasdair continued, driving over any attempt by Matt to speak. “The camera’s at the baggage claim were disabled for the 1 minute it took to convince you to get in the car. This car is stolen from the Salvatore motor pool. We would’ve driven you to one of the docks, taken you out, and Rhona would’ve put a bullet between your eyes. Then we would’ve wrapped your body with chicken wire, tied some cement blocks to your feet, and dumped your body into the lake, burned the car, and left. As your body swelled post-mortem, the wire would cut your flesh into little chunks that would then either float away or be eaten by the fish. All that would be left of you is a skeleton and some wire. If anyone actually missed you, all any investigation would conclude is that you were taken out by the Salvatores for daring to date one of their own.”

Matt sat there, stunned, as Alasdair finished his speech. His mind couldn’t even begin to formulate some sort of response. He was completely and totally out of depth, he realized.

“I just wanted answers,” he said, hating how pathetic he sounded.

Alasdair sighed. “I know Matt,” he said. “I understand. What you gotta realize is these mafia families, they’re not like you. They don’t follow the same social norms that regular people do. How they marry and behave is like something straight out of Game of Thrones. Caroline’s family let her have a glimpse at normal life, but eventually they needed her to come home and fulfill her familial obligations. It’s the price she pays for her life of luxury. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Matt didn’t, not really, but he nodded. He wanted to be out of this car and away from these people.

“Good,” Alasdair said. “We’re here.” He reached back into his suit and pulled out three plane tickets and piece of paper. He then handed them to Matt, who realized they were at the departures drop off zone at the airport.

“What’s this?” Matt asked.

“Well,” Alasdair informed him, “one of these is a return flight to Richmond set to leave in about 2 hours. The other two tickets are round trip tickets to the Bahamas, and that paper is an all expenses paid pass to a five star resort in the Bahamas for New Year’s Weekend. Take these,” he said, opening the door where Matt could see that his bags had been stacked on the curb, “fly back home to Virginia, take advantage of a free vacation courtesy of the Mikaelson family, forget about Caroline, and never,  _ ever, _ come back to Chicago.”

 

**Mystic Falls**

Bonnie was sitting in her apartment, when there was a knock at the door.

“Excuse me,” a familiar accented voice called, “I’m told this is the residence of Miss Bonnie Bennett?”

Bonnie bounded over to the door, throwing it open. “Uncle P!” she said, throwing herself into his arms.

“Little B,” Papa Tunde greeted her fondly. Although they weren’t truly relatives, Tunde had paid a large part of raising her.

“She was here Uncle,” Bonnie said, releasing him. “How did she get into my room? I thought I was supposed to be protected.”

“It’s been taken care of Bonaventura,” Tunde reassured her. “Now pack your things, we leave in 5 hours.”

“Leave?” Bonnie asked. “And go where?”

“Chicago,” Tunde informed her, “your grandmother is accelerating the timeline. Your marriage to the Lockwood boy is to happen immediately.”

“What?” Bonnie said. “But Nona said I could complete my undergrad before that happened. We agreed to it. She promised!”

“Things have changed,” Tunde said. “Rhona Gordon was in your room. It is clear we can no longer keep you safe here. Additionally, if what you said is true, the Mikaelsons and Salvatores now know you are here. They will never stop sending hitmen to eliminate you.”

Bonnie sighed. He was right. It was just so unfair. She had been a perfect heir her whole life. These four years were supposed to be her one guilty pleasure. “Ok but then why do we need to go to Chicago? Why not back home to New Orleans?”

“The only reason we were delaying the wedding was for your studies,” Tunde said. “Now that’s moot, and Donna wants the Lockwoods brought into the Famiglia officially as soon as possible. Now pack your things, we don’t have much time.”

 

**Chicago**

Elijah Mikaelson was an entirely different person from his brother, Caroline had decided. Klaus was out with Kol on ‘business,’ so when the summons had come from Elijah to dine with him and Hayley, Caroline had decided that she couldn’t avoid the family any longer. This was how she found herself at dinner with the other head of the Mikaelson family.

While Klaus was all rogue-ish charm, Elijah was very old world. He had asked her how she was, and had made the question sound as if it were a foregone conclusion, as if any answer other than a yes was an affront to his dignity. They had then turned the discussion to her studies.

“Alasdair tells me you were studying to become an event planner?” Elijah asked.

“Alasdair seems to know a lot of things,” Caroline said.

“Yes Alasdair is quite the asset,” Elijah said. “He’s very good at what he does, and fanatically loyal to my brother as well. We’re lucky to have him.”

Hayley rolled her eyes. “He’s a pain in my ass is what he is,” she said. “Did you know that he staffed the entire house with ex-Saudi Royal Guards?”

“Guards that are incredibly loyal,” Elijah said.

“Babe, they only speak Arabic!” Hayley said, “Alasdair and Rhona do realize that the rest of the house doesn’t speak a word of the language, don’t they? How am I supposed to run a household when I can’t communicate with half the staff?” 

Caroline was finding that she liked Hayley. The other woman had a no nonsense attitude that Caroline really respected, and in her few days in the Mikaelson manor Caroline had come to realize that while Elijah and Klaus ran the organization, Hayley ran the day to day of the house.

“Alasdair has promised to provide a flyer with the basic commands,” Elijah said, and Hayley’s scoff of annoyance told Caroline exactly what the brunette thought of that.

“How do Alasdair and Rhona know Arabic?” Caroline asked.

“They were in the Army,” Elijah answered. “It’s how they met actually. That reminds me, I’ve decided to assign Rhona as your personal bodyguard and driver.”

“Oh,” Caroline said, unsure of how to react to that. She had only seen the hitwoman a couple times, but she knew of her fearsome reputation.

“Don’t worry Caroline,” Hayley reassured her, “Rhona’s the best in the business, and a total hoot. You two will get along great.”

Just then the door opened, and in strode Alasdair.

“Ah Alasdair,” Elijah said, “we were just talking about you.”

“I want those Arabic flyers by the end of the day Al,” Hayley warned him.

Alasdair nodded impatiently. “Sorry for interrupting, but I need to speak to you,” he said to Caroline.

“Me? Why?” Caroline asked.

“It’s about Matt Donovan.”


	4. Go back to sleep, and starve

**Chicago**

Caroline rounded on Alasdair the second the door was closed.

“I thought we had an understanding,” she hissed, furious.

“And what would that be?” Alasdair asked, mildly surprised.

“I made it very clear that Matt did not need to be discussed, with Klaus or anyone” Caroline said.

“I find it amusing,” Alasdair responded, “that you thought Klaus didn’t already know.”

Caroline felt the blood drain from her face. “What?”

“Klaus, and Elijah, and practically everyone in the family knew you had a boyfriend before your flight even landed in Chicago. No one cared. It wasn’t a big deal, that is, until your boyfriend booked a flight to Chicago,” Alasdair finished.

“He what?” Caroline asked.

“Your boyfriend, Matt Donovan, landed in Chicago at 10 am this morning. Rhona and I met him at the airport-”

“Did you hurt him?” Caroline interrupted, “I swear if Rhona hurt him I will make her life miserable! I will-” 

Alasdair held up a hand to stop her. “Matt is fine,” he said. “Rhona and I met him at the airport, and explained to him why it was a bad idea to come here. We then dropped him off at the airport again with a ticket home and a round trip all expenses paid pass to a resort weekend in the Bahamas.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes at Alasdair. “Why the kid gloves?” she asked. Normally the only greeting Matt would’ve gotten was a bullet.

Alasdair gave her a look. “Why do you think?” he asked.

_ Oh. _ “Well what’s the problem then?”

“The problem,” Alasdair explained, “is that your boyfriend never got back on the return flight. It left 2 hours ago. He’s still in Chicago.”

_ Oh Matt you lovable fool.  _ “And why are you telling me this?” Caroline asked. “Why not kill him and never tell me? I assume you’ve threatened him.”

Alasdair nodded in confirmation. “We want you to have a sit down with him, talk to him. We think that maybe a face to face with you is what he needs to get closure.”

“And by ‘we’ you mean…”

“Me and Klaus,” Alasdair said. “He’s made the final call on every decision.”

Caroline considered it. She was surprised by Klaus’ behavior so far, but a long way from believing this wasn’t all part of some mind game or strategy to get her to let her guard down. “Don’t think I don’t know what he’s doing,” she warned. “I know he’s not doing it out of the kindness of his heart.”

Alasdair just smirked. “It’s a gesture of good faith Caroline, take it. Rhona will fill you in on the details. Oh and Caroline,” he added before walking away, “good faith only goes so far. You need to make him leave tomorrow, or we handle this the Chicago way. Understood?”

 

\----------

 

“Well she sounds feisty,” Rhona said. “I think I’m gonna like her.”

_ “You  _ probably would,” Alasdair agreed. They were sitting in their room, Rhona at the table cleaning her gun while Alasdair sat on the couch, musing about the day and planning the next one.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Rhona asked indignantly. 

“It means you’re a sassy bitch darling,” Kol Mikaelson informed her, coming into the room, “and you like to surround yourself with other sassy bitches.”

Rhona arched an eyebrow. “You are very lucky this gun is disassembled at the moment.”

Kol flashed her a winning smile. “Nonsense darling, you could never take a face as pretty as this away from the world.” Rhona snorted.

“What are you doing here Kol?” Alasdair asked, “It’s late.”

“Well,” the youngest Mikaelson brother began, “we were out doing some work-”

“I can see that,” Rhona said, “and you’re about to get blood on our couch.”

“As I was saying,” Kol said, wiping the blood off his arm,” we were out doing some work, but Nik did all the fun stuff, so I’m bored and restless. FIFA?” he finished, holding up the game.

“What the hell, why not,” Alasdair said, firing up the TV. He and Kol got along great, ever since the Gordons had followed Klaus to Chicago. Playing FIFA had become their way of bonding in a somewhat low stress environment.

“Grown men playing video games,” Rhona said, “some gangsters you two are.”

“It sharpens the mind babe,” Alasdair said. Rhona’s dismissive sniff indicated what she thought of that defense.

“What is all this racket?” Rebekah entered the room. “This is a house, not a bloody nightclub.” Then she saw Rhona. “They told me you were back but I hadn’t seen you yet!” she exclaimed.

“Well hey girl!” Rhona said, standing up and embracing Rebekah, before pulling her into a deep kiss. Breaking it off, they both turned to look at Alasdair and Kol, who had paused the game and were looking at the two women with nearly identical expressions of curiosity and interest.

“What boys?” Rhona asked innocently, “A woman’s sexuality is a moving target.”

“Yeah,” Rebekah agreed, “you better be careful Alasdair, or I might steal your wife away.”

“Oh I’m not worried,” Alasdair said, “You’ll be gone and married soon enough, and then you can try and seduce some Italian broad.” Kol snickered, which earned him a pillow chucked at his head.

“Don’t remind me,” Rebekah said darkly. “I still can’t believe Elijah and Nik sent me to that family.”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” Rhona said matter of factly. “Stefan’s a whole snack.”

“Hey!” Alasdair exclaimed indignantly, then had to dodge as a pillow came flying towards  _ his _ head.

“It’s not that,” Rebekah said, “I just always thought I’d have a say.” And that sent the entire room into giggles.

Rebekah looked accusingly at Rhona. “You’re supposed to be on my side! And speaking of which, why wasn’t I consulted on your new assignment? Why does that strumpet get to steal my brother and my bodyguard?”

Rhona shrugged. “You’re leaving girl. Your brothers weren’t about to let me walk out of this manor with you.”

“She’s right Bekah,” Kol chimed in. “Rhona’s too good at what she does to hand her to the Salvatores.”

Rebekah huffed. “Assholes, the lot of you,” she said before storming out of the room, slamming the door shut violently behind her.

Rhona sighed, and assembled her gun. “Actually I think I’m going to head over to my new charge’s room, introduce myself, maybe even spend the night.”

“What?!” Alasdair exclaimed indignantly. “You’re making me sleep alone?”

Rhona looked at him with mock sympathy. “Ah baby, you won’t be alone,” she said with all the sweetness of a viper, “you’ll have FIFA.” And she then sauntered out of the room.

Kol looked at Alasdair with sympathy. “Women,” was all he said, and Alasdair nodded in agreement.

 

\----------

 

Caroline was about to go to bed when her door opened and Rhona Gordon walked in.

“What are you doing here,” Caroline asked, annoyed. Wasn’t there any privacy for her?

“Getting to know you,” Rhona said, plopping down on the couch. “And giving you some instructions for tomorrow.”

Caroline looked at Rhona analytically. The freckled assassin looked right back. “So you like, serve me right?” Caroline said, “I can give you orders.”

“To a point,” Rhona answered. “Sexual favors are off limits though,” Rhona warned jokingly. “You have to earn this body.”

“Mmm that’s too bad,” Caroline said, playing along. “It’s a killer body.”

Rhona grinned. “Oh Alasdair was right. I do like you.”

At the mention of Alasdair, Caroline suddenly sighed, overwhelmed again. “Your husband is suffocating me,” she told the other woman. “Your husband, my husband, this whole fucking family is suffocating me.”

“You’re thinking about this whole thing the wrong way,” Rhona said. “You are surrounded by men who would give their lives to save yours.”

“But not you,” Caroline said, reading between the lines.

Rhona looked at her with respect. “Al did say you were sharp,” she said. “No, Caroline, I wouldn’t give my life for yours. There is exactly one person who holds that honor, and he’s downstairs acting like a child.”

Caroline nodded. “I respect that honesty,” she said, “but no matter how many strapping young Arabic men outside this door would dive in front of bullets for me, it won’t matter if the life I live is that of a prisoner.”

Rhona shook her head again. “You need to think about this from another angle. You are a beautiful, intelligent, sharp witted young woman. I know Klaus Mikaelson. He’s a genius in this business, but he’s still a man, with a man’s weaknesses. You play your cards right, take him into your bed,” she nodded towards the empty marriage bed, “and you could run this house.”

Caroline considered Rhona’s advice. She realized she had never truly thought of her situation as anything but that of a prisoner. Sleeping with Klaus was still a repulsive thought, but it became less so when it was about taking power as opposed to giving in. Looking at Rhona with new respect, she decided to play her cards a little closer to the vest. Rhona may have given her good advice, but the hitwoman was self-admittedly only loyal to her husband, and her husband was loyal to Klaus.

“You said you had instructions for me?” she asked Rhona.

Rhona smiled. “It’s late, I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Sweet dreams, princess.”


	5. Can I please have a waffle?

**Chicago**

Bonnie had been in multiple crime family manors. The Bennetino “manor” in New Orleans wasn’t really that. It was built into an old warehouse. It was just as luxurious as any other manor, but it lacked the impressive outside visual. That was by design. The Bennetinos were the black sheep of the American Cosa Nostra, and they revelled in that designation. During one of the few times there had been peace in New Orleans, Bonnie had gotten the chance to visit Klaus Mikaelson’s manor in the French Quarter. It had been old world charm, but on the small side, comparatively.

The Lockwood’s was different than either of them. It was sleek, modern, all glass and metal, straight lines and bright colors. The main foyer had towering ceilings, and several pieces of modern art hanging across the walls. Bonnie felt small as she stood in it, Papa Tunde at her back. They had arrived in Chicago that afternoon. They’d had to travel by way of a private airfield the Lockwoods owned. Apparently O’Hare and Midway were swarming with Salvatore and Mikaelson people. The experience of essentially having to sneak into the city was new to her, as she was used to New Orleans, a city her family ran. She knew it would be different, but changing cars 3 different times on the way to the manor really drove that point home.

“Welcome to Chicago Ms. Bennetino, Mr. Bellatunde,” Carol Lockwood greeted them as they handed their bags to other students. She was a middle aged woman, and her eyes glinted with appraisal as they studied Bonnie. Bonnie knew that Carol Lockwood was a formidable woman. It took skill to build an independent criminal enterprise in this city, considering the hold the Salvatores and Mikaelsons had on it. The Lockwoods had been playing off the two larger families for years, and it had been a tremendous risk that Carol had taken, marrying into the Bennetinos. She was no doubt hoping to obtain influence on Bonnie, so that when Bonnie rose to be Godmother of the Bennetino famiglia, the Lockwoods would in turn run things. Best that Carol believed she was dealing with a spoiled little girl. Bonnie could decide when and where she wanted to dispel that particular illusion.

“Oh thank you Mrs. Lockwood,” she said, putting on her most earnest and wholesome look. “The ride in was pretty rough. Not used to that in New Orleans.”

Carol Lockwood was good. Bonnie almost missed the small smile before it was replaced by a mask of sympathy. Almost. She had Carol fooled then. That was good. People didn’t have their guard up around those not considered a threat.

“I’m so sorry for that bit of business,” Carol consoled. “The Vulture has spies everywhere. We change our house staff every week to prevent him from getting ears in here. The car changes, while inconvenient, are necessary for your protection. Anyway,” Carol said, turning to the two men behind her, “I’d like to introduce you to my brother-in-law, Mason, and my son, Tyler.”

Mason Lockwood was a tall man in his late 20s, and was polite, offering his support in anything she could require. She thanked him before turning her attention to her husband to be. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Tyler was relatively good looking. Being a looker just made her job easier. He had something of a sulking expression. That could be an act, like hers. She gave him a shy smile and was rewarded with an immediate reddening of the cheeks. That was good. Blushes were near impossible to fake, at least blushes that fast and spectacular.

Papa Tunde then whisked her away from her new family. He took her up to her room, where Vincent Griffith was waiting for them.

“Vincent,” she greeted the Bennetino capo warmly.

“Well hello princess,” Vincent responded, before dapping it up with Tunde.

“How was meeting our new associates?” Vincent asked.

“She has them wrapped around her little finger,” Tunde replied, grinning. Bonnie just shrugged, with a smirk.

“It went well,” she said. “Now, brief me please. What is your assessment of the situation?”

“The Lockwoods are nervous,” Vincent informed her. “The only reason they accepted this union was due to the death of the Dons, and the marriages between the two big families caught them off guard. They thought Damon would be too rash to do it, and they figured the Mikaelsons would be in a succession crisis. They rolled the dice, aligning with us, and they feel like it’s blowing up in their faces.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Tunde said. “They should’ve expected some kind of response. Nothing has happened that the Donna has not previously anticipated.

Vincent inclined his head. “Be that as it may, I think immediately calling the wedding is a mistake. I have called for some men from New Orleans, to help strengthen our position.”

“Donna Bennetino said we needed to bring the Lockwoods under heel immediately,” Tunde said. “She wants a no frills wedding now.”

“If Bonnie really has them wrapped around her finger, we should be able to bring them into the fold anyways. I’ve spoken with the Donna, and she says it’s up to Bonnie. So, Bonnie, what do you think? No frills wedding now, or showy wedding later?”

Bonnie was pensive. “No frills later,” she finally said. “Vincent you’re right, better give the Lockwoods time to trust me, plus have our men arrive from NOLA. On the other hand, no use giving our enemies a public opportunity to strike at us.”

Vincent and Papa Tunde gave her matching bows.

 

\------------

 

“I cannot believe you picked a Waffle House,” Alasdair repeated as the trio walked into the restaurant. Rhona rolled her eyes. Her husband was many things, humble was not one of them. Al would’ve picked a steakhouse if the girls had let him.

“I love waffles,” Caroline explained. “Matt knows I love waffles. He was more likely to believe me if it’s a waffle place. Also, shut up and look subservient.”

Alasdair inclined his head. “As you wish, Mrs. Mikaelson.” The plan was simple. Convince Matt to leave by acting like Caroline was in charge. It was a great plan, and Caroline had been the one to suggest it. The girl was a natural. Rhona had no doubt Caroline would be competing with Hayley and Elena for most powerful woman in Chicago in no time.

Matt was sitting in the back of the restaurant, looking through a menu. As the three approached him, he looked up. Rhona watched his face light up as he saw Caroline, then fall as he noticed Alasdair and Rhona behind her. Caroline sat across from him, with the two bodyguards pulling up chairs behind her.

“What are they doing here?” he asked without preamble.

“They’re here for my protection,” Caroline answered simply.

“Is that what they’re calling it?” Matt asked. The implication was plain. Rhona kept her face a mask, but Alasdair began to look like he was going to speak. Just as he opened his mouth, however, Caroline held up a hand to silence him.

“Coming here was a mistake Matt,” she said flatly.

Matt scoffed, “You left Care,” he said. “You left, and you sent all these weird texts, and-”

“Why didn’t you take the plane tickets?” Caroline asked, interrupting him. Rhona watched her. She really was good at this. They had dressed her in a sweater and skirt, with a white beret and mesh gloves. She had chosen her outfit to be deliberately different from what she would’ve worn in college when dating Matt. Her whole demeanor was different too, even just from the couple days that Rhona had known her. She was cold, her voice flat, with an air of authority about her. If Rhona hadn’t known she was faking it, Rhona might’ve never guessed the other woman was putting on a show. However, it wasn’t perfect. Rhona could see Caroline’s left hand constantly moving and straightening her skirt underneath the table, a tell tale sign of nervousness. Regardless, it was having the desired effect, as Rhona could see that Matt was more and more flustered by this new Caroline.

“Wha- what-” he stammered.

“I bent over backwards to get those tickets for you,” Caroline explained. “And you just threw them back in my face.”

_ “You _ arranged that?” Matt asked.

“Yes,” Caroline stated, as if it were obvious.

Matt shifted in his seat. “I just want some answers,” he said.

“Alasdair didn’t do a good enough job explaining it last time?”

“I want to hear it from you,” Matt clarified.

“Very well,” Caroline said. “You were a dalliance, a carefree plaything to make me feel like a normal person. But I always knew this day would come, and I am loyal to my family and my husband. I am sorry to have hurt you in all this, but you shouldn’t have come here, and if you stay here any longer you  _ will _ find yourself sleeping with the fishes.” And with that she abruptly stood up and left.

Rhona and Alasdair left with her, with Alasdair placing a new ticket home in front of Matt. “Flight leaves in 4 hours,” Alasdair said. “Be on it. She will not be merciful a third time.” And they followed Caroline out. As they left, all the rest of the patrons, in reality hired Mikaelson men, also got up and left the restaurant, getting into cars to form a shield around Caroline, leaving a stunned Matt staring at a plane ticket, alone in a Waffle House.

As they entered the car, Rhona heard Caroline let out a shaky breath.

“You did the right thing,” she reassured the blonde.

“I know,” Caroline said, beret in her hands, mascara running slightly. “Doesn’t make me feel like any less of a shitty person.”

“Just think of it this way,” Alasdair said, “thanks to you, he’s alive to be heartbroken.”

Caroline stared mournfully out the window towards the restaurant where Matt was still sitting. “Just drive, Al,” she breathed.

“As you wish, Mrs. Mikaelson.”

 

\----------

 

Klaus studied his wife as they dined. He always made sure to watch in his business, studying the people he dealt with. And make no mistake, Caroline might be his wife, but seducing her and keeping her happy was most definitely for the business. 

_ It doesn’t have to be this way, _ a tiny voice inside his head whispered.  _ You could let yourself feel. You know you want to. _

He was surprised at himself. Feel? Feeling was for those with the luxury to love. Love was a gangster’s greatest weakness. He hadn’t “felt” since his daughter died.

“Since who died?” Caroline asked, and he realized he’d spoken that last thought aloud.

“Nothing love,” he said. “Beignets?” He lifted the tray but she shook her head. She had been subdued the whole meal. He had only known her for a couple days, but bubbly was the primary word used to describe her, even though she toned it down significantly around him, a fact he found bothered him more than he would’ve thought. Even by those muted standards though Caroline was quiet today. He knew why of course. Still, it was an opportunity to make inroads.

“Are you alright love?” he asked. “Anything I can do?”

She looked up at him and he was taken aback by the fierceness in her eyes. “You’ve done enough,” she spat.

“I’ve done more enough,” he shot back. “Today I’ve shown kindness, pity. Because of you Caroline, it was all for you.” It was a planned line, but again he was surprised by how sincere it actually was. Yes Alasdair’s warnings about avoiding his previous mistakes were ringing in his ears, but there was something about Caroline. The rare times he made her smile before she caught herself. The one laugh that he had managed to squeeze out of her. Her stubborn refusal to let her fear control her. She was fascinating, and while the mobster in him needed her to like him, the small shred of humanity left  _ wanted _ her to like him.

“Why?” she asked. “Why have you gone so far out of your way to accomodate me? I know what you are. This is not normal, for our life or even you personally. You could’ve easily been cordial but distant, killed my boyfriend without telling me. But no. You’ve been  _ nice. _ I want to know why.”

_ Because you’re my second chance, _ he thought.  _ Because you’re beautiful and full of light. Because I enjoy you. _

“Matt was your first love,” he heard himself say instead. “I intend to be your last.” And as he watched her cheeks redden and her eyes move quickly to her plate, he knew he had her.

The only problem was, he was pretty sure she had him too.


	6. I'm a bad bitch you can't kill me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before the chapter, just wanted to say a couple things. First, it's in there but just to clarify, there's a bit of a time jump in this chapter. Second, thanks to all who have written comments and given kudos. I know I haven't responded to any but I read them all and appreciate them. Last, I'd like to put some notes on things I'm looking for in feedback. This isn't an indictment on any previous comments, just something I meant to put earlier and forgot to. So, if you were wanting to comment but wondered what would be most helpful/appreciated, here's a little guide:  
> 1) obviously, any (polite) criticism is welcomed. I don't use a beta or editor or anything, and am definitely not perfect. Even if I don't necessarily agree with your take or change it, having to defend it will help me understand my reasoning better  
> 2) any questions. Literally anything that's remotely confusing is helpful. Sometimes what's all up in my head makes total sense to me, but can be lost in the translation from thoughts to text  
> 3) any general comments or observations. Specificity helps here, as it helps me see what's working better. Additionally, sometimes a reader may notice something that I didn't even realize.  
> 4) of course, if you wanted to comment something different, don't let this stop you! Think of these more like guidelines. Any comments help greatly with motivation, the ones above would just be an added bonus.

**Chicago**

Caroline couldn’t decide between the sapphires or rubies for her earrings. Her dress was a deep azure, with a thin red stripe running from her right shoulder to left hip. It had a high collar, and overall was a relatively conservative dress, but it was ridiculously expensive. She knew because she had gotten a glimpse of the price tag when Hayley had taken her shopping, and had stopped looking after the 3rd digit.

It had been two weeks since she had confronted Matt. Thankfully, Alasdair had reported that Matt had indeed gotten on the flight this time, and was out of Chicago. Over the rest of the week she had gradually assimilated more into the Mikaelson family. She had started to meet the rest of the family, too. Kol was the family trickster, and had seemed to decide it was his duty to haze Caroline, playing all sorts of mean spirited pranks, at least until Klaus and Alasdair had cornered him and forced him to stop. After that he had apologized at dinner, according to him it was all out of endearment, and then spent the rest of the time trying to get her to laugh. Rebekah was an odd one, and it seemed to Caroline like she couldn’t make up her mind whether to hate Caroline or not. Hayley had taken Caroline under her wing, helping educate her about her duties as one of the head wives of the family. Today though would be the first meeting of the Salvatores and Mikaelsons as allies, as one big family. A dinner at the Salvatore manor, at her childhood home. This time though, she would be arriving as a guest, as a Mikaelson.

“The rubies love,” Klaus said from behind her, rising from their bed where he had been putting on his shoes. _Their_ bed. It had happened a few days after what Rhona had taken to dubbing “The Waffle House Incident.” Caroline had initiated it, sending for Klaus and having him arrive to her in her birthday suit. She had enjoyed it far more than she thought she would. Klaus was clearly no virgin. After that day, Klaus had moved back into their room, and throughout the house a tension had been released that Caroline hadn’t even realized had been held. They had all been waiting, she realized, waiting for her to make the move. Waiting for her to accept her place as part of the family.

“Hayley’s wearing sapphires,” Klaus had continued, “so the rubies would be a better choice for you.” Caroline considered his input, and decided he was right. Putting them on, she turned to face her husband.

He was annoyingly dashing, as per usual. His suit was a deep, dark red, with his vest and tie a similarly dark shade of blue. He was the perfect image of a mobster, except he was giving her that weird look. Normally he looked at her with the same sort of analytical gaze he fixed everyone else with, but every once in a while he looked at her like he was looking at her right now, with a kind of wonder. Like he couldn’t believe she was real. Abruptly his gaze snapped back to its normal state, and he offered her his hand.

They descended into the main foyer where the rest of the family was waiting. Elijah and Hayley were dressed in nearly the same clothes as Klaus and Caroline, except with the colors flipped. The symbolism was there, a kind of yin and yang dynamic meant to announce to the world their joint ruling of the family. Alasdair and Rhona were there as well. Alasdair was wearing his trademark white suit, although he had gone with a black vest and tie to match his wife’s dress. Caroline had hardly ever seen Rhona not in one of the assassin’s many leather jackets, but the other woman wore her dress with the kind of predatory grace that characterized her every movement. It was a black column dress, with a deep neckline and spaghetti straps, and as Caroline moved closer she realized that the dress also had floral patterns stitched in green thread, a pattern mirrored on her husband’s vest. Rebekah was dressed in a sleeveless green dress, with Kol escorting his younger sister in an all black suit.

“Well now that we are all here, looking dashing as hell,” Kol said, provoking a mild chuckle out of the room, “let’s go show the Salvatores who’s their betters eh?”

They went outside where their cars were waiting. It was a row of Bentleys, each staffed by one of Alasdair’s guards. Elijah and Hayley were in the first one, followed by Klaus and Caroline, then Alasdair and Rhona, and finally by Kol and Rebekah. As the caravan pulled out, Caroline mentally steeled herself. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but this evening was sure to be a surreal experience, and she had no idea how these new emotions would affect her.

 

\----------

 

Rebekah could not decide who she hated more; her brothers or her husband-to-be. The combined might of the two most powerful mafia families in Chicago were arrayed across a large table. At one side, the table had been widened to allow Elijah and Klaus to sit side by side, as befitted their status as co-heads of the family. Their wives were next to them, the foursome resplendent in their complementary outfits. Rebekah sniffed. It had been _her_ idea to offset the colors, not that anyone in her family would take the time to appreciate it.

Moving down the table, Alasdair and Rhona sat next to Caroline, with Kol and Rebekah across from them. Just then Alasdair leaned over to Rhona and whispered something to his wife, causing Rebekah’s bodyguard to give an uncharacteristic giggle. Her _former_ bodyguard, that is. For a moment she switched her glare to Caroline. The other blonde was resplendent in her blue and red dress, which just served to annoy Rebekah even more.

“Bekah, you’re glowering,” Kol chastised her, poking at his food. “You don’t want Elijah and Klaus to catch you glaring daggers at the prize of the family.”

“They can both chew rocks,” Rebekah muttered angrily. “And you’re one to talk, you’re the one who put a skunk in her room.”

“That was a joke!” Kol’s face was the picture of innocence. “And she accepted my apology anyways.”

“Yes she’s very gracious,” Rebekah said, “which is even more annoying. Why couldn’t be hatable? She’s driving me insane.”

Kol chuckled. “Well look on the bright side sister, soon you’ll be out of our house and won’t have to deal with her anymore.”

Rebekah glared at Kol, which only caused her brother’s grin to widen. It also reminded her of Stefan Salvatore, who was shooting her another unreadable glance from across the table. Rhona had been right, he was very attractive, which Rebekah supposed she should be grateful for. Still, ridiculous or not, she had hoped to have some sort of say in her marriage. Her brothers doted on her, she knew, and she had always figured that would earn her some leeway in securing a marriage. But no, first chance they had she had been sold off like a prize cattle. And worse, she had been replaced. Caroline was also blonde, was also good at planning events, and now apparently had even replaced her as the apple of Klaus’ eye and stolen her bodyguard. These past two weeks had been unbearable, feeling like an outsider in her own home. As terrible as that was, however, she preferred it to being a real outsider in a family that, up until three weeks ago, was considered mortal enemies with her own.

As the meal wound to a close, Damon rose to make a toast.

“Before I say anything, I would like to note the person responsible for this lovely meal we’re eating. To my beautiful wife, Elena!” Everyone dutifully raised their glasses to the Salvatore matriarch, although Rebekah did it grudgingly. Rebekah hadn’t forgotten about Elena’s snide remarks at the wedding, and she had no intention of playing second fiddle to the slip of a woman.

“With delicacies such as these, it’s a wonder we all look as good as we do,” Damon continued, as a chuckle went around the room. “Speaking of looking good, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my happiness at seeing how beautiful my little sister looks. Caroline, it gladdens my heart to see that my confidence in your good treatment by our new allies was not unfounded. While we miss you dearly here, I am sure you will continue to receive good treatment across town. To my sister Caroline!” Everyone again raised their glasses, although this time Damon was subject to flat gazes from all of the Mikaelson contingent. The implied threat had gone unnoticed by no one, and even though she resented the other woman, the notion that her family would treat Caroline anyway other than well was insulting to Rebekah, and she knew it was just as insulting to her brothers, if not more.

Damon either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “And finally, I would like to make a toast to our new union. While in times past it’s true we would clash, it is undeniable that if we work together, we can achieve an empire and enterprise the likes this city has never seen. I would like to thank my new brothers, Klaus and Elijah, for understanding that it is our duty as the younger generation to learn from our father’s mistakes. To unity!” And this time they roared the toast back, and it had real emotion behind it. Rebekah understood what it was, of course. This was their city, and they would be damned if they were going to let the Bennetinos just take it.

 

\----------

 

After the meal, they separated, with the men heading to the study to talk business and the women going to the living room to plan Rebekah’s wedding. The notable exception, of course, was Rhona. She went with the men, practically being a capo in her own right. This was known and accepted among the Mikaelson contingent of course, but she knew that, although they were mostly too smart to do more than give sidelong looks, many of the Salvatore contingent resented her presence there. Mafia society was incredibly sexist and it didn’t matter how many people she had killed, there were some who would never consider her an equal.

As they filed into the room, they sat in a specific order and hierarchy. There was a massive desk on one end of the room. There were two chairs there, and they were filled by Klaus and Damon. Standing at their shoulders was Elijah and Stefan. Some of the Salvatores might’ve read something into Klaus seemingly taking charge, but Rhona knew why. This was war, Klaus’ realm. He would take charge. The two chairs closest to the desk were filled by Kol for the Mikaelsons and Alaric Saltzman, the Salvatore consigliere. The next chairs were filled by the junior bosses, David Lebonair, Hayley’s brother, for the Mikaelsons and Jeremy Petrova, Elena’s brother, for the Salvatores. The next were filled by Alasdair and Zach Salvatore, the Salvatore brothers’ uncle. Rhona herself took the last Mikaelson chair, across from Lorenzo St John, known as Enzo, a top capo in the famiglia, with the last major Salvatore capo, Vito Santini, and the two Petrova lieutenants, Peter Kuzmenkov and Nikola Fedotov, taking the remaining chairs. The Mikaelsons were outnumbered, having left some members home as a show of good faith. Also in a show of good faith, they had come mostly unarmed, although Rhona knew Alasdair had a few knives hidden in his suit jacket. Rhona had wanted one too, but that was out of the question. She was too famously deadly to be allowed a weapon in the Salvatore manor, alliance or no alliance.

Rhona shifted as she sat, adjusting her dress. While she didn’t dislike dresses per se, sitting in one for too long always made her uncomfortable, and she missed the solid fit of a leather jacket and a good pair of jeans. Then again, they did offer some benefits, as she didn’t miss the correlation between her adjusting her bra and several sets of eyes drifting down towards her chest. She smiled. She didn’t possess a massive bust, but she knew she had enough to grab the attention of men if it was advertised, like it was in this dress. Most of the eyes that dropped down went back up almost immediately, but one set didn’t. Jeremy Petrova was looking like he wanted to take a dive down the front of her dress. She smiled at him, and when he noticed it, he at least had the grace to blush. Still, it hadn’t been an unconscious stare, and she knew that if she had noticed it, Al surely had as well. Jeremy must be feeling bold, his elevation to boss of the Petrova organization at such a young age making him cocky. Being a little bold with his eyes was one thing, but if he ever tried to push it farther than that it would be a competition to see if Al’s knives got to him before Rhona’s bullet.

“Everyone set?” Damon said, once everyone was seated. “Very well. We all know the reason for this alliance. The Lockwoods have been an annoyance for years, but marrying into the Bennetino family took it to another level. They’ve feasted off our division for years, and they think with Mikael and Giuseppe dead we will be weaker and more divided than ever. We must prove them wrong. It’s time Carol Lockwood knows what it means to take on the combined might of both our families. For the past few weeks we have been laying the foundation, moving pieces in secret, gathering information. Today, however, we escalate it. Starting tomorrow, we will be in all out war. I’ll let Klaus take it from here.”

Klaus nodded to his counterpart. “We will be hitting a major source of Lockwood income. Our first stroke will be to cripple their finances.”

“Where?” asked Enzo.

“Barclays Grocery Store,” Klaus answered simply, and there was a sharp intake of breath from around the room. Rhona arched an eyebrow. She had not been privy to this. Barclays was where the Lockwoods ran their bookkeeping operations out of. It pulled in millions of dollars each year, and was heavily guarded.

“We’re hitting Barclays?” David Lebonair asked doubtfully. “That’ll be a bloodbath.”

Damon grinned. _“We’re_ not touching Barclays,” he said, “the police are. Together now we have more than enough policemen on the payroll to organize a raid on Barclays.”

“Still,” David said, “the police have tried to hit Barclays before. The Lockwoods are smart. They keep everything legal and above ground. The police won’t find anything.”

“Yes they will,” Klaus said, “because next Sunday is the Indianapolis 500.”

“And?” Vito Santini cut in. Vito was an old man, and had been a Giuseppe loyalist. The old Don’s death had led to a reduction in prestige, Rhona knew.

Klaus inclined his head to Alasdair in response.

“And,” Alasdair answered, “I have it on good authority that the Lockwoods are letting their high rollers in for early access on the betting tomorrow. There’ll be a lot of cash, probably some prostitutes, definitely some drugs. The police will find something, which will lead to another thing, and pretty soon the whole thing will be shut down.”

“And you know this how?” Vito asked skeptically. Alasdair looked insulted. Rhona was insulted for her husband. Alasdair was the best in the business at what he did.

“Alasdair has a very reliable source in the Lockwood inner circle,” Klaus cut in, before Alasdair could reply.

“How reliable?” Vito asked again.

“Reliable,” Damon said, provoking a few eyebrow raises. “Alasdair has shared it with me. I approve. It’s a solid lead Vito.” Rhona knew that Alasdair had done no such thing. Damon was bluffing to back down the older capo.

But Vito was uncowed. “You place too much faith in these people Damon,” he said, gaining momentum. “Even if he is telling the truth, how do we know if he’s being lied to? How do we know he isn’t being set up?”

“I know how to vet a source Vito,” Alasdair grated out. “I’ve been doing this for a while.”

“Yeah, in New Orleans,” Vito shot back. “You and your wife,” he gestured dismissively at Rhona, “don’t seem to realize that things work differently here in Chicago.”

“You’re right,” Rhona cut in, “Chicago is easier.”

Vito’s face darkened. “Chiudi la bocca, puttana,” he spat.

Chairs were thrown back as the Mikaelson brothers surged to their feet, murder on their faces. Rhona was practically family. They might not have understood everything, but they understood that last word. Alasdair, however, was fluent in Italian, and he moved faster than any of them. Before anyone could speak, there was a hiss and a thunk as one of his knives buried itself in the armrest of Vito’s chair, not two inches from his hand.

“Call my wife that again Vito,” Alasdair hissed, venom in his voice, “and the next one will go between your eyes.” Silence fell over the room as the other men looked at Alasdair. Rhona knew Alasdair wasn’t known as an intimidating man. Respected, feared even for his network, but he had a bit of a reputation as someone who didn’t get his hands dirty. Rhona knew better. She may be the deadlier of the two, but in her own humble opinion that was a bit of a high bar. Her husband could be a very dangerous man when provoked, and Vito had done more than enough to provoke him.

Vito for his part snatched his hand back as if on fire. “They’re supposed to be unarmed,” he whined to Damon. “You said they’d be unarmed!”

Damon considered the situation. Rhona knew that he knew he was dangerously close to losing control of this alliance. This was a group of men far more accustomed to working against each other rather than with.

“You’ve insulted one of our honored guests Vito,” Damon finally said. “Apologize.”

“But-” Vito began, but Damon held up a hand.

“Do it Vito,” he said firmly. “You crossed a line. Be a man.”

Vito nodded stiffly. “My apologies, Mrs. Gordon,” he said formally. “My emotions got the best of me.”

Rhona nodded, accepting the apology, but her eyes glittered. Slut, was she? She would remember that one. Idly, she noticed Jeremy was again ogling her cleavage.

“Alasdair,” Elijah said from behind Klaus, the first words he had spoken all meeting. “You came armed to a peaceful meeting, and have damaged one of our host’s antique chairs. You will apologize to our host, relinquish your remaining weapons, and agree to pay the fee to repair the chair.”

Alasdair nodded, drawing two more knives from his suit and placing them on the desk. “My apologies, Mr. Salvatore. Force of habit. Feel free to bill me the damage fees.”

Damon nodded, accepting the apology. The tension went out of the room. If anyone had any doubt as to the roles of the head Mikaelson brothers, it had been put to bed. Klaus was the general, Elijah the diplomat.

“Now that that’s settled,” Klaus said, smiling easily, “let’s talk logistics.”

 

\----------

 

Elena sighed, collapsing into one of the chairs of the study. The guests had long gone, even most of the Salvatore people were gone. All that was left was her, Stefan, Damon, Alaric, and Zach.

Alaric eyed her with amusement. “Ah come on, she couldn’t be that bad.”

Elena eyed him doubtfully. “I made one off hand joke _once,_ Ric,” she said, “and she’s acting like I was her childhood bully. Spent the entire conversation critiquing my food choices. Didn’t notice her being that picky during dinner.”

“At least you don’t have to marry her,” Stefan said somewhat mournfully. “She spent the entire dinner glaring at me whenever I made the mistake of looking at her.”

“Grow up, the both of you,” Damon said scornfully.

“Whatever,” Elena said dismissively. “Anyways, how’d the meeting go?” The men grimaced simultaneously. Elena’s eyes widened slightly. “That bad.”

“I’m gonna kill Vito one of these days,” Damon said.

“Vito decided to call Rhona Gordon a slut, and then Alasdair drew a knife on him and threatened to kill him” Stefan said more helpfully.

Elena sucked in her breath. “Why would he do something so stupid?”

“I don’t know, I guess he thought they wouldn’t be able to understand Italian or something,” Stefan replied. “He was wrong.”

“Regardless,” Damon said, “Vito won’t be coming to any dinners at the Mikaelson manor, and he’s lucky I don’t take him off the guest list for our events too. Thank god Elijah worked with me and we were able to calm everybody down. Alasdair’s gonna pay for the chair he ruined too,” he added to Elena, gesturing to the upholstery with the knife still sticking out of it.

Elena raised her eyebrows. “Sounds eventful,” she said, and got rueful chuckles from the men too.

“Jeremy’s finally noticing women again by the way,” Damon added.

Elena felt her spirits lift. “That’s great news!” she said. It was. Jeremy’s high school sweetheart, Anna, had gotten killed in a car accident two years ago. He needed to marry as boss of the Petrova organization, but had been swearing he’d never take another.

Damon’s mouth twisted. “Not exactly,” he said.

Elena frowned, “What do you mean?” she asked.

“The woman he was checking out,” Zach cut in, “was Rhona Gordon.”

Elena groaned. “No he wasn’t.”

“Oh yes he was,” Stefan said dourly. “He could barely keep his eyes off her assets.”

“He was staring at her like a lovesick puppy,” Damon said angrily. “I mean what is he, 12?”

“Did she notice,” Elena said despairingly, hands over her face.

“Oh she noticed,” Damon said. “Pretty sure everyone in the entire damn room noticed.”

“Can’t say I blame the kid too much,” Alaric said. “She cleaned up nice today.”

“Yeah ok, so she’s a beautiful woman,” Damon said. “Leopards are beautiful too. Doesn’t mean I stare at it like it’s an all you can eat buffet.”

“Oh come on,” Zach said, “she’s not that bad. I’ve talked to her before. I’m sure she’ll understand it was just wandering eyes.”

“You didn’t have to travel with her Zach,” Alaric said. “I helped move out Caroline’s stuff. There’s a screw or two loose there.”

“You know what they called her in New Orleans?” Damon said. “‘The Angel of Death.’ Tell me, does that sound like a reasonable and understanding woman to you?” Zach threw up his hands in surrender.

“I’ll talk to Jeremy,” Elena said. Her role in their organization often involving playing peacemaker to her hot headed brother and husband.

“You better,” Damon said. “I won’t have this alliance fall apart because your brother can’t keep it in his pants.”

“I said I’ll talk to him,” Elena repeated, and Damon nodded. She knew he trusted her completely. The room fell into a bit of an awkward silence as all the men played chicken as to who would ask her. She smiled.

“So I talked to Caroline after dinner,” she began, and had to stifle a laugh at the way they all started to talk over themselves.

“How’s she doing?” went Stefan.

“Is she ok?” Damon.

“How’s she holding up?” Zach.

“They treating her ok?” Alaric.

Elena smiled at all of them. “She seems to be doing fine, by all accounts they’re bending over backwards to accommodate her over there.”

“As they should,” Damon said, and the other men nodded vigorously. He hesitated before continuing. “Did she say anything about us?”

“She didn’t bring you up,” Elena said carefully, “but when I brought up how much you all missed her…” she struggled with how to phrase it next.

“She still hates us,” Damon finished bluntly.

“Hate wouldn’t be the word I would use,” Elena clarified, “but she’s definitely not over it yet. You just need to give her time, I was the same way.”

“And how long?” said Stefan. At her questioning gaze he continued, “How long until you forgave your family for giving you away like a prize?”

Elena hesitated, torn between whether to lie or tell the truth. Damon’s piercing gaze decided it for her. He would know.

“2 years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chiudi la bocca, puttana = Shut your mouth, slut


	7. Bruh chill I don't know why you in a big time rush

**Chicago**

The Lockwood manor was in an uproar. Voices shouted back and forth as armed men stampeded through the corridors. Bonnie stretched, and stood. It had to be 3 in the morning. Poking her head out of her room, she saw Papa Tunde leaning against the wall outside the door.

“What time is it?” she asked him.

“2:48 AM,” he responded, checking his watch.

“Then what the hell is going on?” she demanded, still blinking the sleep from her eyes.

“It appears,” Tunde replied calmly, “that our adversaries have gone and started the war without bothering to tell us.”

“How inconsiderate of them,” Bonnie said, suddenly awake. “Where is Vincent?”

“Meeting with the Lockwood leadership, getting information on what happened,” Tunde said in response.

“I want to see him as soon as he’s done. I want to know everything that happened.” Bonnie said before heading back into her room to get changed.

Approximately half an hour later Vincent Griffith came back into the room, looking slightly haggard, he collapsed into a chair.

“The police raided Barclays,” he said without preamble. Tunde let out a low whistle, and Bonnie nodded. She had spent the last day researching the Lockwoods’ business. Barclays was a bold target.

“The police?” she asked, making sure she understood.

“Bought,” Vincent confirmed. “From what I could understand, more resources than either family has independently. This was planned jointly.”

“So much for any hope at a shot across the bow,” Bonnie murmured. The Salvatores and Mikaelsons weren’t dithering around. They were trying to go for an early knockout.

Vincent grimaced. “It gets worse,” he said. “The Lockwoods were hosting an early betting party for their main customers. Police raid hit at exactly the right time. Caught everyone with their pants down.”

“Lucky?” Tunde asked, with somewhat of an air of hopefulness in his voice. Bonnie understood why. Lucky was hard to replicate.

Vincent shook his head. “Timing was too perfect. There’s a leak.”

“Carol didn’t try to keep this secret?” Bonnie asked. Something this important would’ve been priority number one for her grandmother.

Vincent spread his hands. “She tried. I helped her with it, but an event of this size, it’s impossible to keep it fully secret. Too many people involved in the planning.”

“That how you think they figured it out?” Tunde asked. “Too many people involved in the chain of information?”

Vincent pursed his lips. “It’s possible they put it together through a myriad of sources,” he admitted, “but I don’t think so. The timing was too perfect. Plus…” he trailed off, looking at Tunde.

The bald African nodded grimly. “It’s the Vulture,” he said, anger pouring over every word. “Best to assume that snake has people higher than you realize.” Bonnie looked at her bodyguard with sympathy. Tunde had good cause to hate Alasdair Gordon. Alasdair had turned one of Tunde’s sons, bled him dry for information, then killed him. Tunde had gotten some measure of revenge in the sack of the New Orleans Mikaelson stronghold, where he killed Henrik Mikaelson and left Alasdair for dead in a gutter, but Bonnie knew that his failure to finish off his son’s killer had always haunted him.

“Has Carol made the connection?” she asked Vincent. 

He shook his head. “She’s not willing to go there,” he said. “That would mean accusing someone very high in her organization of working for their enemies, and that’s not something she’s willing to accept, yet.”

Just then there was a loud commotion outside the door, with lots of shouting.

“I don’t care Carol!” someone shouted, with Bonnie belatedly recognizing Mason Lockwood’s voice. “I’m going to make those bastards pay!”

Tunde threw open the door just in time to hear Carol’s reply, pleading with Mason to calm down, sober up, think it through. Mason didn’t even bother replying, just stormed down the stairs and they heard the door open, then slam close.

“He seems to be taking it poorly,” Vincent observed calmly.

“You would be too, if you were him,” Carol said, appearing in the door frame. “A lot of the legitimate business involved with Barclays had his name on it. They found so much illegal activity tonight, there’s a good chance Mason goes to jail. I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid tonight.” With that she seemed to realize who she was talking to. Giving the three an unreadable look, she hurried into the house, shouting commands to have her brother-in-law followed.

 

\----------

 

Alasdair was awoken by a pounding on his door. He groaned. “What?” he shouted blearily at the door. He had been up until 4 am tracking the progress of the raid. This was supposed to be a victory sleep. Reaching his hand to the other side of the bed, he found the form of his wife, already starting to stir from her sleep.

“Rise and shine lovebirds,” Kol’s voice called cheerily from the other side of the door. “Family meeting!”

“Can’t I have sex first?” Alasdair called, and earned a quick and immediate slap to the back of the head for his troubles. Rhona took approximately 0.2 seconds to fully wake up.

“No,” Kol’s voice no longer sounded cheerful. “Come down now. Something’s happened.”

Alasdair’s head snapped up at that, and his head swiveled to make eye contact with Rhona. Her eyes held a similar mix of confusion and alarm. Kol was almost never sounded serious, even when he was. Something was wrong.

They both threw on some old Army sweatsuits and headed down out, neither even bothering with shoes. Kol raised an eyebrow when they walked out. Alasdair knew he was hardly ever seen out of a white suit, especially when he was in an official capacity.

“Something happened,” Alasdair repeated by way of explanation, and Kol nodded before heading down ahead of them.

Alasdair was shocked when he entered the study to see Damon and Stefan Salvatore. The two brothers were dressed in suits, but badly, as if they had just recently put them on, in a rush. Also there was Alaric Saltzman. The three men looked like they hadn’t slept, and Alasdair noted with alarm that Stefan’s eyes were red rimmed, as if he had been crying. Filling the room was the rest of the Mikaelson and Lebonair crime families. Everyone looked like they had just been roused from sleep.

“Good, everyone’s here,” Elijah said as Alasdair and Rhona took up positions along the wall. Turning to Damon, he nodded his head. The Salvatore Don pursed his lips together grimly.

“Earlier this morning, at about 4:30 AM, Mason Lockwood shot and killed our uncle, Zach Salvatore, outside his apartment. We found out at around 5 when Gayle, his girlfriend, called us, hysterical.”

Silence reigned in the study. Alasdair was stunned.  _ Mason you fool. _ Sliding his eyes over to Klaus, he saw that his boss was looking at him. Alasdair gave a small nod.  _ Your call boss. _

“How do we know it was Mason?” Klaus asked. Alasdair nodded. Maybe Mason had been framed. Stefan’s next words dashed that faint hope.

“Zach had installed this doorbell cam thing,” the Salvatore Underboss said, “caught it all on video. You can watch the tape if you’d like.” Klaus put your hands up in surrender.

“If you have the whole thing on video, why not go to the cops?” Marcel asked. “If it’s as plain as you say, there won’t be enough bribes in the world to prevent him from doing time.”

“We could put him in jail,” Damon agreed. The ‘but’ didn’t need to be said. They weren’t interested in legal avenues to avenge their uncle. They were mobsters. They wanted to give Mason Lockwood the Mafia’s justice.

Klaus coughed. “What if I told you we could deliver you Mason Lockwood?”

Alaric raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.” Klaus nodded towards Alasdair, and all eyes swiveled to the spymaster leaning against the wall.

“Mason Lockwood is my source inside the Lockwood family,” Alasdair announced, causing much raisings of the eyebrows around room. “It’s how I knew everything about the event at Barclays.”

“And you’re just sharing this now?” Marcel challenged him. Alasdair narrowed his eyes at the other man.

“Alasdair kept this a secret at my instructions, Marcellus,” Klaus said. “Mason was a valuable source. We wanted to keep the number of people who knew about him to a minimum.”

“And yet you’re revealing this to us now,” Damon said slowly.

“Well yeah,” Alasdair said, “not much reason to keep him a secret now, since we’re gonna kill him.”

“You’re going to burn a valuable source for us?” Stefan asked doubtfully.

“No,” Klaus said, “I’m going to burn him for me. You’re family now. Zach was family. And  _ no one,” _ his voice dropped into a growl, “gets away with hurting my family.” No one but Alasdair, Rhona, and Marcel heard the silent ‘again’ present at the end of the sentence. Papa Tunde continuing to walk alive was a constant sore spot for the New Orleans contingent.

“I should be the one to kill Mason,” Stefan said suddenly. “Zach was my godfather. I’m godfather to his kid. I want to be the one to end his killer.”

“I’m coming with you,” Alasdair said automatically. At Stefan’s sudden glare he put up his hands. “Easy Ripper, you’ll still deliver the killing blow, I just want to make I’ve extracted every drop of information I can before you lop off his head.” He grinned suddenly, rubbing his hands together.

“Let me just go upstairs, change, and grab my tools and we’ll be off!” 


	8. We all die you either kill yourself or get killed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, there is some gore and graphic description of torture, so if that stuff like makes you pass out or whatever I'd skip this one.

**Chicago**

“Well shit,” Alasdair said, dumbfounded.

“What?” Stefan asked. The two were in the back of a van rumbling to go kill Mason Lockwood.

“I forgot to clean them,” Alasdair said, staring at his torture kit.

“When’s the last time you used them?” Stefan asked leaning over.

“Far too long,” Alasdair said. “These are beyond saving.” He showed Stefan, and the other man’s face twisted in disgust. The tools were caked in dried blood, among other things, and reeked. He tossed them aside.

“You still going to torture him then?” Stefan asked.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Alasdair said, drawing a couple knives from his suit. “I just can’t be as precise as I normally like to be.” He studied Stefan Salvatore. The other man reminded Alasdair a lot of himself, although Stefan was noticeably better looking. They both often lived in the shadows of more feared counterparts, Rhona for Alasdair and Damon for Stefan. However, both men were feared in their own right, and furthermore were very dangerous. Alasdair had his network and his skill as a torturer, and Stefan had his nickname, the Ripper, and a big machete he used to cut people’s heads off that he was now holding across his lap.

“I’ve always wondered,” Alasdair began, gesturing to the machete, “do you just use one really nice one of those, or do you have a bunch of cheaper ones you just cycle through?”

Stefan looked at him, and for a second Alasdair thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Just one,” he said finally.

Alasdair nodded. That was what he had thought. “We’re almost here,” he said. “Now listen, I know he killed your uncle, and trust me, there’s no way Mason walks out of here alive.”

“But,” Stefan said expectantly.

“But,” Alasdair repeated with a smile. “I found him, and before you start chopping heads off, Ripper, I get to squeeze him for any last pieces of info. Understood.”

Stefan met his eyes evenly. “Understood.”

“Good,” Alasdair said. “Also, stay in the van for the first little bit. I want him off guard at first.” Stefan nodded, and Alasdair rolled his neck as the van came to a stop. “Showtime.”

They were in an auto parts shop, one owned by an associate of the Mikaelson family who had kindly agreed to take his kids to a waterpark for the day. It was the usual place that Alasdair met Mason at, and Alasdair could see as soon as he stepped out of the van that Mason was a mess. The other man was pacing, using a gun to scratch his head. Alasdair quickly checked to see that Mohammed and Sayif had come out of the van. They had, and already had guns trained on Mason. 

When Mason saw Alasdair, his eyes narrowed into rage. Everything he was wearing was dirty, and he had bags under his eyes. He started to point his gun at Alasdair, then stopped when he saw he was outgunned.

“Put the damn gun down Mason,” Alasdair said. The Lockwood captain glared at him, but complied, setting the gun down and kicking it over to Alasdair, who promptly kicked it further behind him. He used guns when he had to, but he preferred knives.

“You lied to me,” Mason said sullenly.

“Well that’s kinda obvious at this point isn’t it,” Alasdair said, taking a seat. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to another seat that Mason reluctantly took.

“I’ve been providing you information for months now,” Mason continued, “and none of it’s been wrong.”

“You have been most helpful,” Alasdair admitted.

“Then why lie to me?” Mason exploded. “I’ve given you no reason not to trust me!”

“I have often found,” Alasdair said, “that in our business, if you wait until you have a reason not to trust someone, it’s usually too late.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Mason said.

Alasdair sighed. “I don’t have the patience for this,” he said. “ Rabt yadayh waqidmih maeaan,” he said to Sayif and Mohammed, and the two men surged forward, Sayif’s fist impacting Mason’s stomach before he could react, the butt of Mohammed’s pistol connecting with his face at the same time, knocking him out as the two Saudis bound him hand and foot.

“You can come out now,” he called to Stefan, and the Salvatore Underboss came out of the car. 

“You done with him then?” Stefan asked.

“No, just about to get started actually,” Alasdair said, and then he nodded to Sayif and Mohammed. Sayif waved some smelling salts under Mason’s nose, and Mason jerked awake, looking around blearily. When he saw Stefan, he started going wild, jerking against his bonds.

“You son of a bitch,” he yelled at Alasdair. “You said you would protect me!”

“You killed his uncle,” Alasdair replied simply. “Did you truly think I would prioritize you over this alliance? Besides, at this point, I think it’s been established pretty well that you really shouldn’t be trusting me.”

Stefan was pacing behind Alasdair, his machete unsheathed.

“Now Mason,” Alasdair continued, “I have just a few questions for you.”

Mason was crying. “Fuck you,” he spat.

Alasdair drew a large knife. “You know,” he said, running a finger next to the edge, “I was rather hoping you would say that.”

About 20 minutes later, Alasdair knew Mason was close. He was missing his pointer finger, and Alasdair had broken his right arm at the elbow. Alasdair had also been methodically cutting off his right ear.

“Come on Mason,” he said, leaning in. At this point his suit was more red than white, and he was glad he’d picked one of his cheaper ones. “Tell me when the wedding is. Maybe I’ll be able to convince Stefan to let you live.”

To his mild surprise, Mason huffed a laugh. “I’m a slow learner,” he rasped, “but I do learn. You’d have never brought him here if you had any intention of letting me live.”

Alasdair nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “I can’t offer you your life. You forfeited that when you killed Zach Salvatore,  _ like a fucking idiot. _ What I can offer is a quick death. Decapitation is a swift and relatively painless death, especially with someone as skilled as Stefan here. You tell me where and when the wedding is, and I’ll let him end it right now. If not…” he bent down to scoop up the slivers of Mason’s ear that had fallen to the floor, “I’ll feed you pieces of your ear, one by one, until you tell me what I want to know. What do you say?”

Mason looked at him with disgust. “You’re sick,” he said.

Alasdair pursed his lips. “So that’s a no?” he said, and frowned when Mason didn’t reply. “I’m confused. What exactly are you protecting here? It’s not your life, it’s already been established that you’re gonna leave here headless. Your honor maybe? Some misguided attempt to protect your family? You’re already a traitor Mason. You sold out your family for a few measly bucks. If they knew, the Bennetinos would do the same we’re doing, and your sister in law would let them.  _ You have no family anymore Mason. _ So tell me what I want to know, I’ll let it all end.”

Mason glared defiantly at him, and Alasdair sighed, gesturing to Sayif and Mohammed. The two men grabbed Mason by the jaw and head, forcing his mouth open. Alasdair showed Mason the piece he was gonna eat, a sliver that was still recognizably his ear, and began to slowly lower it to his mouth.

“Wait!” Mason yelled, or tried to yell. Fortunately for him, Alasdair had done this before, and knew what to listen for. He gestured to Mohammed and Sayif, who released Mason. Mason sagged against his bonds, and breathed something that Alasdair didn’t quite catch.

“I don’t know,” he breathed again when Alasdair asked.

“Nope,” Alasdair said. “Not good enough.”

“I’m serious,” Mason insisted. “You think those Bennetino fucks trust me with anything? The only person they’ve told is Carol, and she can’t tell anybody. It’s soon though. They’re bringing up a bunch of Bennetino men from New Orleans for it. Please man, that’s all I know.”

Alasdair nodded. “Ok Mason,” he said. He’d been doing this for a long time, and knew how to tell when a man was lying. Mason wasn’t. He was also on the verge of making stuff up to make it stop. “He’s all yours,” Alasdair said to Stefan, who nodded.

Stefan unsheathed his machete, which sung with a low hum when unsheathed. Mason didn’t react, still hunched over. “Now I won’t be as thorough as Alasdair,” Stefan said softly, “but I do have a question for you Mason. Why Zach? He wasn’t a strategic target. He had barely anything to do with the attack on Barclays. He had a kid, was actually planning on retiring in a few years. So why him?”

“I don’t know,” Mason rasped, “he just an easy target I gue-” he never finished the sentence, as Stefan’s machete was a blur of silver, cleanly severing Mason’s head.

“Wrong answer,” Stefan said flatly.

“There was a right one?” Alasdair quipped, which earned him a glare from Stefan as the other man knelt to scoop the head into a burlap sack, a traditional move for the Italian.

“Wait,” Alasdair said, an idea coming to him as he took his knife, slashing the bonds of the headless corpse and letting it fall.

“You’re not…” Stefan said disbelievingly.

“Why not?” Alasdair said as he flipped Mason’s headless corpse onto its stomach. “A headless Blood Eagle. A good sign of unity, don’t you think?” The Blood Eagle was an ancient viking tradition, and one the Danish Mikaelson family had adopted for when they wanted people to know they had killed someone. It started with a cut down the spine, then the skin across the back was peeled off. The next step was to hack away the ribs from their connection to the spine, which caused them to spring out, like bloody wings. Then the lungs were manually drawn out and slung over the shoulders before the body was hung, swaying in the breeze. Once Alasdair finished with Mason, he hung the body from the doorway of the auto office. He then took the bag with Mason’s head from Stefan, hanging it off the arm via some rope he found. He then stepped back, admiring his work.

“Ok,” he said, wiping his hands with a nearby cloth. “Let’s go.”

As they drove, he felt Stefan’s eyes on him, with an annoyingly judging look in his eyes.

“What?” he asked the other man annoyedly. If there was one thing that pissed him off it was hypocrisy.

“So you were the one who did all those Blood Eagles in New Orleans,” Stefan said. Yup, there was definitely a judging tone there.

“Oh don’t presume to look down on me,” Alasdair spat. “You really think you’re any better? I know what happened to those hookers at Damon’s bachelor party.”

Stefan looked away, ashamed. “At least I don’t revel in it.”

Alasdair huffed a laugh. “No, you just deny it, hide it away under the farce of ‘the Nice Brother.’ But all the comparisons to Damon won’t hide the fact that they call you ‘the Ripper.’ You’ve racked up an impressive headcount these past few years, pun intended. We’re all monsters Stefan, otherwise we wouldn’t be any good at this business.”

“Not all monsters are created equal,” was all Stefan said in reply.

“No they’re not,” Alasdair agreed. “But make no mistake, when the dust settles, it’s usually the worst monsters that are left standing. Think about that next time you call yourself ‘the nice one.’”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rabt yadayh waqidmih maeaan = Tie his hands and feet together


	9. I just want a church girl that goes to chu-urch

**Chicago**

Damon let out an explosive sigh, crashing into his bed.

“It’s done,” he said. He rubbed his eyes, desperately fighting a sudden rush of emotion. He hadn’t been as close to Zach as Stefan had, but he was still his uncle. Having to see Zach’s girlfriend and kid had been rough. Unsurprisingly, Gayle had blamed him and Stefan for Zach’s death, and the sting from the women’s slap still smarted on his face.

Elena rolled over from her position on the other side of the bed. Looking at her husband with sympathy, her hand sought his, which he gripped hard with gratitude.

“She blame you?” Elena asked.

“Yup.”

“She take the money at least?”

“She did,” he confirmed.

Elena nodded. “That’s good.”

Damon looked at her incredulously. “No it’s not Elena,” he said, “none of this is good.”

“Of course it’s not Damon,” she said gently. “Your uncle is dead. I loved Zach too, and my heart aches for Gayle and Sarah, but this is war. You didn’t really expect us to escape unscathed did you?”

Damon rubbed his eyes. “No,” he said dejectedly, “I just hoped it would be like Vito or something.”

Elena smiled at him sadly, and Damon managed a weak grin. He wasn’t used to losing family members. Giuseppe barely counted. _See?_ He thought ruefully, _I don’t even think of him as ‘Dad.’_

“Has anyone told Caroline?” he asked. His half-sister had also had a good relationship with Zach.

“She’s been told,” Elena said, “I texted her earlier tonight.” Damon nodded. That was good. He couldn’t help but be hurt, considering Caroline never bothered to answer any of his texts. He knew why of course, but that didn’t make him feel any better about it.

“I still don’t understand why you don’t let me take the heat for it,” Elena said, as if she could read his mind. “It was my idea in the first place. Times like these, you need her and she needs you.”

“I really don’t want to have this argument again,” Damon said. No one knew that the dual marriage idea had been first proposed by Elena. Damon had took her idea and ran with it, presenting it to the rest of the famiglia, and then to Elijah and Klaus, as his own. They often operated as such, a way for them to circumvent the sexist nature of Mafia society. “What kind of man throws his wife under the bus? Besides, we all approved and implemented it. We’re just as much to blame.”

“If you say so,” Elena replied, and Damon was thankful she seemed content to let it rest at that.

“Did you talk to Jeremy?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I did,” she said, “He has agreed to ‘stop being so obvious’.”

“He needs to just get a new crush,” Damon grumbled.

“That’s the best I could get,” Elena replied. “He doesn’t seem that threatened by Alasdair.”

“Well first off that’s a dumb position,” Damon said. “Alasdair just tortured and performed the Blood Eagle on Mason Lockwood, and Mason had actually been helpful to him. Second, Jeremy does realize Alasdair’s not the only one he has to worry about right? Rhona’s practically a one woman army, and to top it all off, she’s incredibly popular in that family.”

“That’s what I told him,” was all Elena had in reply.

Damon sighed. “That kid’s gonna get himself killed if he keeps going on like this.”

Elena nodded. “I know,” she said. “I worry about him.”

“Me too,” Damon admitted, which drew a raised eyebrow from Elena.

“You hate Jeremy, and he hates you,” she said.

“Ok I don’t hate Jeremy, he and I just disagree a lot,” Damon protested. “And second, I’m not so much worried about Jeremy being an idiot and getting himself killed for Jeremy’s sake, but for yours. I know how much he means to you.”

“That’s sweet babe,” Elena said, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Now get some sleep. You’ve had a long day. Let me worry about my baby brother.”

 

\----------

 

Caroline had decided, quite conclusively, that losing a family member was one of, if not the, worst things someone could go through. She had made this very scientific observation through the experience of losing first her father, and then her only uncle. She had loved Zach. Everyone had loved Zach. And now he was gone, leaving behind a kid and a girlfriend.

“Oh god, what about Gayle and Sarah?” she asked Rhona. The two were sitting in her room, with Rhona dutifully holding a box of tissues while Caroline cried her heart out.

“It is my understanding that your brothers will provide for them,” Rhona answered gently. Caroline nodded. The part of her brain not overwhelmed with grief thought it made sense. Mafia families, whatever their many faults, looked after their own.

Just then, the door opened, and Klaus walked in. Rhona nodded to him, gave Caroline a sympathetic smile, set the tissues on the nightstand, and walked out. Caroline’s husband gave her a sad look, then sat on the bed next to her.

“Just tell me,” she said, before Klaus could begin. “Tell me whoever did this is dead.”

“Mason Lockwood is dead,” he said simply, “courtesy of Stefan and Alasdair. They killed him approximately 3 hours ago.”

Caroline nodded. “Good,” was all she said. It was all she was able to say, really, as she did not want to break down again.

“I’m sorry, Caroline,” Klaus said, and in an emotional state where she was looking for anything to latch onto and rage against, those three simple words ignited her fury.

“You’re sorry,” she mocked. “It’s your fault he’s dead. You and your stupid wars. You knew people would die, but you don’t suffer because you don’t care about people.”

Klaus’ eyes flared with rage, and Caroline was suddenly reminded how dangerous of a person he was. “If you knew even a fraction of what I have suffered it would break you in two,” he snarled.

She snorted. “We’ve all suffered, Klaus. You lost a brother. I lost my father, who I actually liked, and now my uncle. You’re not spe-”

“I lost my child!” Klaus roared, and Caroline’s mouth closed with a snap.

“You what?” she said. He was lying. He had to be. He was a master manipulator. Everyone knew this. There was a part of her that knew, though. He wasn’t lying. This was real.

He sighed, wiped his face with hands, and Caroline realized he had wiped away tears. Klaus Mikaelson, in tears. It almost beggared belief.

“You may or may not know,” he said hollowly, “that you’re actually not my first wife.” She had not, and it must have shown on her face because he let out a rasp of a laugh. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “It’s not a tale anyone around here likes to talk about.”

“So why are you telling me?” Caroline asked.

“To make you realize that I understand, better than perhaps anyone, what it feels like to lose someone close to you,” Klaus said earnestly, “and that I am truly sorry for what you’ve had to go through Caroline.”

Caroline nodded. “So tell me.”

“Her name was Cami O’Donnell,” Klaus began, with a small sad smile. “She was the cousin of the heir of the Rose Crew, Declan O’Connell. The Rose Crew was, is, an Irish gang that controls the French Quarter of New Orleans out of their bar, Rousseau’s. I had gained control of the docks, and the Bennetino’s controlled the rest of the city. Alasdair negotiated an alliance with the Rose Crew through their leader at the time, Father Keiran, Cami’s uncle. They would provide us with the manpower and a base in the city proper, and we would give them financial backing and access to the docks. It was to be sealed with mine and Cami’s marriage.”

“So she was me before me,” Caroline said.

“In a fashion,” Klaus said. “Cami was a psychology student. She was beautiful, brilliant. I didn’t… hold back in the same fashion I did with you. It wasn’t rape, I assure you, she went through with it-”

“Yeah, it sounds like it was true love,” Caroline observed caustically, and Klaus winced.

“Declan felt a similar way, and it soured most of our dealings with him. Eventually, however, Cami got pregnant.” He took a pause to swallow hard, and Caroline saw how difficult it was for him to do this. “It was a girl. We were going to name her Hope, but-” his voice broke, and he again had to take a moment. “There were complications during the delivery, and in the end we lost both Cami and the baby. In the aftermath, Father Keiran died a week later of a heart attack and Declan, now in control of the Rose Crew, flipped to the Bennetinos and they stormed our compound, killing Henrik.”

Silence reigned in the room. Caroline was stunned. She certainly understood now why she had never heard any of this. Beyond Klaus’ personal tragedy and heartbreak, it had been an embarrassing blow to the family’s prestige. She had never known the specifics behind Klaus’ defeat in New Orleans, other than that Henrik had died. 

“That’s why you’ve been so nice to me,” she said. So many things now fit into place. Klaus’ strange kindnesses during these past few weeks, Alasdair and Rhona’s desire to cater to her and make her feel welcome, the amount of tension in the family during that time before the consummation of the marriage. Klaus’ first marriage had gone disastrously wrong. They couldn’t afford the second going as wrong. “You’ve been making sure my family doesn’t think you’re mistreating me.”

“I will not deny that it was a reason,” he admitted uncomfortably. “But it was hardly the only one. Cami eventually let go of her resentment towards her situation, and I think I eventually earned her respect, but our relationship never progressed beyond that of business partners. I want something more with you, Caroline. I want-”

“A real marriage,” she finished, and Klaus nodded carefully. “Very well,” she said, “but if I am to be your real, genuine wife, you need to treat me differently. I demand that you not think of me as a tool to be used. I am to be off limits from your usual manipulations.”

Klaus smirked. “I have to admit, love, that’s not an exception I’m accustomed to making.”

“Well you’re going to make it,” she said flatly. She was in no mood for games. “You want this to be different than Cami, fine, but it’s gonna require bigger changes than waiting for me to make the first move in the bedroom. You can’t think of me as a separate entity, with different goals than you. If we are to be a real marriage, we must truly be a ‘we.’ What I want, you want. What you want, I want. Compromise amongst ourselves, a united front to the outside world.”

Klaus’ smirk was gone now. He was dead serious, and studying Caroline with a focus and intensity that would’ve given Rhona a run for her money. “Do you understand what you’re proposing, Caroline? This would not be a one way concession.”

She nodded. She did. If she was asking him to trust her completely, she would need to be worthy of that trust. That meant near fanatical loyalty, above that of even Alasdair. “I do.”

He leaned back, studying her, then suddenly grinned, and pulled her in for a kiss that curled her toes and left her breathless.

“Well then,” he said, roguish smirk back in full force. “I think this calls for a way to seal this understanding, don’t you?”

 

\----------

 

Bonnie had been at dinner when they’d found out. She’d been in the process of seducing Tyler when there was a knock at the door. It was a police officer, and what he had to say had thrown the entire evening into disarray.

“Blood Eagle and decapitation,” Vincent said with disgust. “It’s a message.” They were all clustered in the Lockwood study; Vincent, Bonnie, Papa Tunde, and Carol.

“I just don’t understand,” Carol said. The poor woman had been rocked by the events of the last two days. “How were they able to find him so quickly?”

“Because he’s the mole,” Vincent said, and Bonnie and Tunde nodded. It was the logical explanation. Carol, however, was still in denial.

“I don’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head. Bonnie sighed, and decided it was time to drop the demure schoolgirl act.

“Whether you believe it or not, it’s the truth Mrs. Lockwood,” she said emphatically. “Fact,” she continued, ticking off her fingers, “the mole for the Barclays raid had to be incredibly high placed to know so many details of the night’s event. Also a fact, while Alasdair almost certainly would’ve found Mason eventually, Mason was found ridiculously fast after he committed the murder, even by the high standards of the Vulture. Another fact, the Blood Eagle is Alasdair’s preferred method of execution. He performed around a dozen of these in New Orleans. He’s especially fond of using it on informants who betrayed him.” Tunde’s face darkened.

His wasn’t the only one. “With all due respect-” Carol began, but Bonnie drove right over her.

“With all due respect, Mrs. Lockwood, you’re losing,” she said flatly. “I was willing to take a backseat due to this being your city, but it has become abundantly clear in the past two days that you lack the control and ruthlessness necessary to win this war. Those men arriving tomorrow, the ones you will need to have any chance in this? They’re loyal to me, and me alone. I am in charge now.” Carol sat in her chair with a thump as Bonnie turned to Vincent and Papa Tunde, and inwardly Bonnie winced. She wasn’t being quite fair to Carol, but she needed to press her advantage while the other woman was vulnerable.

“Send word to the Mikaelsons and Salvatores,” she said to Vincent. “Tell them I want a parley.”

Vincent and Papa Tunde wore matching grins as they bowed.

“Yes Donita.”


	10. Welp, when life gives you lemons

**Chicago**

“They’re late,” Tunde observed irritably. “The time they set was over 20 minutes ago.”

“Relax, my friend,” Vincent said mildly, “They’ll be here.”

“I know they’ll be here, but they should be on time,” Tunde insisted. “We’re a major famiglia. It’s insulting.”

“They’re winning,” Bonnie said. “It’s meant to be insulting.” The three were seated at a long table in Jensen’s Community Center, a place that had long been used as a negotiation site for Chicago’s criminal elite. It had big bay windows that faced the street, where a suspiciously large number of inconspicuous cars were parked. This was the appeal of the place. It was exposed, and constantly watched by cops. There could be no betrayals or traps set. People felt safe meeting here. “We’re lucky they said yes at all, to be honest.”

A car pulled up then, a Bentley. So, a Mikaelson then, and probably no more than one or two. When the car door opened however, even Bonnie’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“No they did not,” Vincent murmured in disbelief, and watching only Alasdair Gordon get out of the Bentley accompanied by two guards, Bonnie had to agree. She hadn’t dared to hope Elijah or Damon would show, but she had at least expected to meet with Kol or Stefan. To not even send blood to the meeting was an even greater insult than she anticipated.

Alasdair entered the building with his trademark whites, and when prompted to hand over his weapons, as Vincent and Tunde had, he simply took off his blazer and handed it to the staff member, and Bonnie could see an impressive number of knives hidden within. That still left two knives at his waist, which he unsheathed with a flourish and stabbed emphatically into the community center wall. Leaving his guards, he stalked over to the three Bennetino members.

As the Spymaster to the Mikaelson crime family approached, Bonnie remembered what her grandmother had told her about Alasdair Gordon. _Beware of the Vulture, Bonaventura,_ she had said, _for one of the greatest advantages in war is to know your enemy’s move before he makes it. But don’t be too in awe, for while it is true that knowledge is power, information is not knowledge, and knowledge is not wisdom. Alasdair Gordon would have you believe he has all three, but in reality he only ever really has the first one._

“Well hello my Bennetino friends,” he greeted them jovially as he sat down. “It’s been what, six months, since we last saw each other?”

“7,” Tunde corrected coldly. “How’s your cheek?”

Alasdair’s hand went to his prominent scar, and for a moment Bonnie saw a depth of rage and malice flash across his face that made her mouth go dry. But it was gone in an instant, and replaced again by fake humor.

“Hurts when it rains, like the rest of them,” he joked. “How’s your son? The alive one, that is. I assume you’re taking better care of him than the last one?”

But Tunde didn’t rise to the bait, simply sending him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Do you know why they sent you Alasdair?” he asked. “It is because you’re no great loss if we should kill you. You may live in their house, but you’ll never be family to those animals.”

Alasdair just smirked. “First off,” he said, leaning back into his chair, “if you even so much as pointed a gun at me there’d be so many pictures of it the DA would have to spend an hour finding the right angle. There’s not enough money and manpower in the world to pay off or silence the amount of cops outside right now, so let’s dispense with the fake threats. Second, the _family_ is at a funeral right now, and you’re lucky you even got someone as important as me. Klaus was advocating for sending a Lebonair lieutenant.”

“Enough with the sniping,” Bonnie cut in. “Did we come to insult or did we come to negotiate?”

Alasdair swung his fake grin to her. “Little Bonaventura,” he chided, “foreplay is an essential part of any negotiation. Didn’t Sheila teach you anything?”

“She taught me everything, Alasdair,” Bonnie shot back. “To prove it, I won’t even ask how you found Mason Lockwood. It’s obvious he was your informant.”

Alasdair nodded. “Point for you, Ms. Bennetino.”

“One thing I’m confused by,” Vincent spoke for the first time. “Is why kill him? He’s an incredibly valuable asset, and I’m assuming you were too paranoid to share his identity with anyone but Klaus and Elijah. Why not just pretend you can’t find him?”

Alasdair smiled. “I’ve found, Vincent, that if you wait for a reason not to trust someone-”

“-it’s usually too late,” Bonnie finished one of her grandmother’s favorite sayings. “My grandmother taught you that, Alasdair. Like I said, she taught me everything. Everything she knows, I know. Remember that when you try to play me like a fool.”

Alasdair’s faux joviality was completely gone now. He was gazing at her with the unblinking eyes of a bird of prey, and Bonnie remembered when she had given him his famous nickname. They had been travelling to the Mikaelson compound for a formal party, and one of the capos with them had remarked of a new member of the Mikaelson organization gaining a reputation for being able to see everything. 12 year old Bonnie, having just seen an Animal Planet documentary about the incredible eyesight of vultures, had said “Oh so he’s like a vulture,” and the capos had found that absolutely hilarious. Few in the car could’ve imagined how widespread the nickname would become, or how high that member would rise in the Mikaelson ranks.

“Perhaps,” Alasdair was saying, “but knowledge is one thing, the experience required to use that knowledge effectively is quite another. Very well, Donita Bennetino. You wanted the foreplay over, it’s over. What do you want?”

“What we want,” Bonnie said, “is a truce. You bury your dead, we bury our dead. You have your other wedding, we have our wedding.”

Alasdair huffed a small laugh. “Peace,” he said, letting out another laugh.

“Not peace,” Bonnie corrected him. “A truce. We are prepared to offer terms-”

“There is only one term we are interested in,” Alasdair interrupted. “There will be no peace until every last Bennetino is gone from our city.”

“‘Our city’?” Vincent asked. “Alasdair, you said yourself you’ve only been here for 7 months.”

“I was born in Wisconsin, Vincent,” Alasdair said. “My parents were divorced, I spent half my childhood here. This is far more my home than New Orleans ever was. That was your home, one we tried to move in on. You kicked us out. Unless you want to learn how that feels, leave now.” And with that, he left, picking up his blazer and knives on the way out.

“Well that went about as well as could be expected,” Bonnie remarked.

“Then why meet with them at all?” Tunde asked. “This just ended up being a waste of time, plus we’ve now been insulted.”

“Well for one,” Bonnie began, “on the off chance they had been amenable to a truce, we could’ve used the respite. Second, this makes us seem more panicked than we are, which will hopefully make them overconfident. And third,” she shrugged, “I was just kinda curious how they’d respond.”

“And now that they have?” Vincent asked.

Bonnie smiled. “Now,” she said, “we counterstroke.”

 

\----------

 

The funeral was beautiful, Rebekah supposed, or as beautiful as a funeral could be. Rebekah didn’t believe in all that ‘celebration of a life’ crap. Death was sad, and funerals were a place of death. It was especially sad when the death was premature, like Zach’s.

“I bloody hate funerals,” Kol muttered, throwing back a glass of bourbon. Rebekah winced. Her brother had dealt with more than his fair share of grief. The two of them were sitting alone at a table, in the back of the Salvatore manor. The wake was winding down, and there weren’t many people left.

One of the few left was Stefan Salvatore. Her fiance was standing near a window, gazing out of it with a drink in hand. She considered him. He really was handsome, and had the kind of brooding, damaged persona that she was drawn to.

“You should go talk to him,” Kol said, having noticed her staring. “Could be just what he needs. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to get some face time before the wedding.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” she admitted. “I know how these things remind you of Davina. You should have someone with you.”

Kol smiled at her. “Go, sister,” he said. “I’ll be fine. He needs your company more than me.” He then pulled her into a hug. “I am going to miss you, little sister,” he confessed during their hug, “when you leave us for them.”

“And I, you, brother,” she said. “Make sure you watch how much of that bourbon you drink.” And she walked over to Stefan.

As she approached him, she wondered how to begin the conversation, but he spoke first without turning.

“Who’s Davina?” he asked. “Grieving, not deaf,” he said by way of explanation.

“Someone who was very close to my brother,” was all she said. Davina was not her story to tell. Fortunately he only nodded, and went back to looking out the window.

“Your speech was very good,” she offered. Stefan’s speech during the memorial had been very moving, and had Rebekah actually known or cared about Zach, she might have cried. “You two must have been close.”

“We were,” he said. “He was my godfather, and made me godfather to his kid.”

Rebekah nodded. “I’m sorry, Stefan.”

He turned to her, a pensive look on his face. “What changed?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He chuckled. “Three days ago you spent an entire dinner glaring at me anytime I made the mistake of looking at you, and now you’re being cordial, even nice to me. What changed? And don’t tell me it’s because of Zach. You didn’t even know Zach.”

Rebekah shrugged. “Nothing really changed, not concretely anyways. It’s just, we’re getting married in a week, Stefan. Our families are at war. I just decided that to hold onto resentment, and to take it out on you, was not just irresponsible, it would be dangerous.”

Stefan looked at her with a new respect. “That’s… a very mature decision,” he said, sounding surprised.

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Did you assume I would be otherwise?” she asked, then giggled when his eyes widened in panic. It really was too easy to throw men off balance. She briefly turned her head to look at Kol, who she saw had been joined by Rhona. Satisfied that her brother had a caretaker, she turned back to Stefan.

“So,” she said. “Tell me more about Zach.”


	11. "Oh look at us we're in love and happy and not dead inside"

**Chicago**

“Did you have to sleep with his daughter?” Alasdair said, draining the champagne glass before reaching for the bottle.

Kol laughed, setting his own glass down. “She was hot and willing Alasdair, I wasn’t going to say no. Besides, I don’t know why you’re upset, it’s not like he called off the deal or anything.” The two of them were in a Mikaelson private jet somewhere over Lake Michigan, just returning from negotiating a deal with the Detroit Cosa Nostra. Part of merging with the Salvatores meant getting access to shipment routes that had previously been closed to them.

“Yeah but he charged us an extra 5% because of it,” Alasdair said.

Kol snorted. “Zinchoni puts a price on his daughter’s virginity, yet I’m the rascal.”

Alasdair shrugged. “Could be worse. They could be the Bennetinos.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Kol said, and the two men dutifully knocked back their glasses as the intercom announced they were beginning their descent. “How did your meeting with them last week go by the way? You never told anyone but Nik and Elijah.”

“That’s because there was nothing really to tell,” Alasdair replied. “Went pretty much as expected. They asked for a truce, I told them to go shove it.”

Kol nodded, pensive. “Who was heading it? Carol?”

“Bonnie, believe it or not,” Alasdair said.

Kol raised an eyebrow at that. “Sheila’s granddaughter? The ex-roommate of my new sister-in-law? Isn’t she like 20?”

“She is,” Alasdair said. “She’s formidable though. Sheila’s clearly been grooming her for a long time. She handled herself like a pro. It’d be a mistake to underestimate her.”

“Won’t be a problem from me,” Kol said. “Hate them all you want, the Bennetinos are nothing if not capable.” He paused. “Was _he_ there?”

Alasdair eyed his friend. There was no need to ask who Kol meant. “Yes,” Alasdair said finally, “he was there. He appears to be advising Bonnie, acting as her underboss while in Chicago.”

Kol’s face darkened, and he glared at his empty glass. “I want to be the one to kill him. Promise me Alasdair. If you have him dead to rights, you save him for me. I want to watch that bastard bleed.”

Alasdair clasped his hand on the back of Kol’s neck. “We’ll get him. I promise you, _you’ll_ get him.” Kol nodded gratefully, and they both leaned back as the plane began to land.

After they got off the plane, the two were met on the tarmac by Rhona, who had a sign that read “Dumb and Dumber.”

“Which one am I?” Alasdair asked, before pulling her into a deep kiss.

“Which do you think?” Rhona answered flirtatiously, to which Alasdair responded with a wink.

“If you two are done playing grab-ass on the tarmac, I believe our ride is waiting,” Kol called, looking somewhere between exasperated and amused.

“Please, _darling,”_ Rhona drawled, mocking Kol’s signature pet name, “ we haven’t even begun to play grab-ass yet.” Still, she and Alasdair followed Kol into the car.

“How was the trip?” she asked when they were in the car.

“Detroit’s still shitty, but it was fruitful, despite Kol’s best efforts,” Alasdair said, getting a raised eyebrow from Rhona and rolled eyes from Kol.

“The sex worth it?” was all she asked Kol, to which he grinned widely.

“Of course darling,” he said at the same time Alasdair muttered “No.” Rhona threw back her head and laughed. Alasdair watched his wife, thinking there was nothing quite as beautiful as an amused Rhona.

“So, Rhona dear,” Kol said, “tell us what we’ve missed. The wedding is in two days. I assume my sister has taken over the household?”

Rhona shot him a look. “You two have no idea the shit storm you’re walking into.”

“Oh boy,” Alasdair said, exchanging looks with Kol. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Rhona put her head in her hands, before straightening and looking at them. “So, as you know, our lovely Caroline was studying in college to be an event planner. She has thus decided that should mean she is in charge of finishing the wedding planning. Rebekah of course thinks that’s ridiculous, that she should be allowed to finish the job. Elena’s then weighed in and offered to take all of it, which was roundly denied. So, battle lines have been drawn. Klaus and the Salvatores are backing Caroline, and Elijah feels that’s unfair and he and Marcel are on Team Rebekah. There’s so much tension in the house you could cut it with a knife.”

“Jesus Christ,” Alasdair said, then grinned. “Which side are you on?”

Rhona groaned. “Can we please talk about something else? How about what you’ve been hearing from your network. You figured out the Bennetino wedding is tomorrow, right?”

Alasdair nodded. After Mason had told him they were waiting on Bennetino men coming up from New Orleans it had been a relatively simple matter to track them. They had tried to be clever by driving instead of flying, but Alasdair still had a very good network in New Orleans, and had presences in Memphis and St Louis, two cities they’d have to drive through to get to Chicago. They had gotten to the Lockwood compound 2 hours ago.

“Are we hitting that?” Rhona asked, and Kol and Alasdair shook their heads.

“It’ll be too heavily guarded,” Kol explained.

“But we do have a plan for our next move right?” Rhona asked, and Alasdair grinned.

“We sure do,” he said. “We’re gonna fuck with their southern shipping routes in a big way.”

“And what are they doing?” Rhona asked. “Surely they aren’t just sitting on their asses hoping we leave them alone.”

Alasdair spread his hands. “As far as I can tell, they’re busy preparing for the wedding.”

Kol spat. “It’s too quiet,” he said. “I don’t like it. They’re planning something.”

Alasdair nodded. He shared Kol’s reservations, but if the Bennetinos were planning something, they were doing a very good job of hiding it.

“We’re here,” Rhona said. “Prepare yourselves boys.” Alasdair looked outside, and could already see at least two sets of determined hands on hips. He hadn’t been to church in nearly 15 years, but involuntary he crossed himself before opening the car door.

 

\----------

 

There was a part of Bonnie that was extremely disappointed in her situation. This was her wedding, for crying out loud, and they were holding it in the town hall, after hours, with approximately 12 bodyguards surrounding them as ‘witnesses,’ As dream weddings went, it was decidedly lacking. Still, this had been her decision, and she was still confident it was the right one.

The ceremony went smoothly. She had worn a simple white dress, while Tyler had dressed in a traditional tux. She had to admit he looked dashing, which she appreciated. That, at least, matched her girlhood dreams.

After the ceremony, she and Tyler got into their car. She looked over at her new husband. Over the past month or so she had spent a lot of time with him. At first blush he was the classic jock stereotype, but he was smarter than he acted. While his mother hadn’t included him in any higher level strategy, Bonnie knew he wasn’t sheltered, and helped run lower levels of the business.

“I’m going to start including you in our planning,” Bonnie announced. 

He smiled ruefully. “You are really trying to piss my mom off, aren’t you?”

“It’s not about pissing your mom off,” she said. “It’s about being smart. You’re her heir, my husband. You shouldn’t be left in the dark about our strategy. It’s not a good idea.” Tyler nodded pensively at this.

“Besides,” Bonnie continued, “with Mason dead, there’s an opening in responsibilities.” Tyler’s face twisted in emotion at that, and Bonnie quickly apologized. Silently she chastised herself. Traitor or not, he was still Tyler’s family. Tyler hadn’t said anything throughout the entire funeral process.

But Tyler surprised her by shaking his head. “I’m not grieving him,” he said. “I’m just still pissed he was selling us out to that prick. My mom and dad gave him everything he could possibly ask for, and he betrayed us all the same.”

Bonnie nodded. She made a decision and leaned over, kissing him. 

“What was that for?” he asked when it ended.

She just smiled at him. “I think this marriage is going to work out just fine.”

The car arrived at the manor and they got out. Vincent was there, waiting for them before they headed in for dinner. Carol may have agreed to make the wedding low key, but she had insisted on having a reception at the manor, and Bonnie had agreed.

“Donita,” Vincent greeted her. “I trust everything went smoothly? No one tried anything?”

She nodded. “Everything went just as planned.”

“Good,” he said. “Our friends across the city did send you a card, so it appears we weren’t able to keep the date a secret, but it appears they did not feel it was worth attacking.”

Bonnie pursed her lips. She didn’t like that Alasdair had figured out the date of her wedding. That man was entirely too good at what he did. She could only pray that without Mason as a mole, he no longer knew their high level strategy.

“You think he knows about our plans?” she asked Vincent.

Her acting underboss shook his head. “It never pays to underestimate him, but I have seen no indication that he or his masters have any idea as to our plans. Do I take that to mean I have your go ahead?”

She nodded. “Tell Tunde to do it tonight. They’ll be distracted by the wedding planning tonight, and assume we are the same. Their guard will be down.”

Vincent bowed. “As you wish Donita. Enjoy your wedding party.”


	12. I don't care that you broke your elbow

**Chicago**

Alasdair crashed through the doors of the study.

“The Bennetinos hit the Petrova arms shipment,” he announced without preamble, and Rhona felt her eyebrow raise. She was sitting in the study with Klaus, Elijah, Marcel, Kol, and Caroline. Rhona didn’t know what had been discussed after Zach’s death, but since then, Caroline had become involved in the family affairs. She had started sitting in on meetings of the capos, and of course there had been that near disastrous dust up with Rebekah over wedding plans. She rarely contributed, but she was present, and where Caroline was present, so was Rhona. They had been going over wedding security plans when Alasdair had burst in.

“What happened?” Elijah asked immediately.

“The Petrova’s had a huge shipment coming in,” Alasdair said, “probably their biggest of the year. From what I hear, Jeremy had planned to use this to open up some new routes to Africa and southern Asia. The Bennetinos and Lockwood showed up with like 25 guys and just yanked the entire shipment.”

“Interesting,” Klaus mused. The other members of the room had similar expressions, before Marcel spoke what Rhona suspected most of them were thinking.

“It’s kinda small isn’t it?” he asked. “I mean, it sucks for Jeremy, he’s going to lose a lot of money from it, but he’ll survive, and we all have the financial windfall to provide for him in the meantime. I’m not even sure if this is as big of an impact as our hit on Barclays.”

“It’s not,” Kol said. “Jeremy has a much bigger safety net than the Lockwoods.”

“What are they playing at?” Klaus wondered, and Rhona could see her boss hated not knowing. Klaus was a master tactician, and was never comfortable unless he was 3 steps ahead.

“It’s Jeremy,” Caroline spoke up, then continued in a rush, “when I was growing up he was constantly around the house, due to Elena being in her first couple of years of marriage, so I got to know him pretty well. He’s extremely hot headed, and very prideful. He’ll be furious with this, and well, everyone knows your guys’ intelligence network is the best and-”

“And you think he’ll blame me for not knowing about it,” Alasdair finished, catching on. “That could be it, try and sow dissension.” The other men around the room were nodding. It did make sense. Klaus was beaming proudly at Caroline, and Rhona smirked. It was thoroughly amusing to watch a man so famously manipulative and in control be so completely smitten.

“Very well,” Elijah said. “Assuming Caroline is right, Jeremy might be a bit, ah, testy tonight at the wedding. I want no one to rise to the bait, that’s especially considering you two,” he said, pointing at Alasdair and Rhona. Alasdair nodded, while Rhona raised her hand innocently like a child in class. Elijah sighed, then gestured for her to continue.

“What if he gropes my ass?” she asked, and the entire room burst into laughter, except for Elijah who just gave her a long suffering look. She rolled her eyes and nodded to him. She’d be a good little girl.

The phone at the desk rang then, and the laughter cut off abruptly as Elijah answered it.

“Mikaelson residence,” he began, then his face cleared. “Ah Damon, I thought we might hear from you soon. I understand Jeremy lost some apples last night.” He then put the phone on speaker so the room could hear the Salvatore Don’s response.

“That he did,” Damon said over the speakerphone. “He’s pretty upset about it. Wants us to buy more at the market next week to make up for it.”

But Klaus and Alasdair were already shaking their heads, and Elijah nodded at them. “No,” he said. “The amount we settled on is enough. We all have more than enough apples to cover for him in the meantime. Jeremy will live.”

“I agree,” Damon said. “Just wanted to check in.”

“Appreciate the communication,” Elijah replied. “We’ll see you at the wedding.” He hung up. Looking around the room, he smiled.

“Good call Caroline,” he said, “now I believe that concludes any business for the day. Let’s all get ready for our sister’s wedding. She’ll have our heads if we’re behind schedule.” The entire room chuckled at that.

“And remember, no teasing or sniping with Jeremy Petrova!”

 

\----------

 

Elena was worried about her brother. Jeremy was looking for a fight. He had been livid when the news about the attack on his arms shipment had come through, and even more upset when Damon and the Mikaelsons had essentially brushed off the attack as unimportant and refused to alter their original plan of action. He wanted revenge, and hated being treated as unimportant.

In spite of Jeremy’s best efforts, the wedding had gone off without a hitch. Stefan and Rebekah looked gorgeous, and Elena was genuinely happy for her brother-in-law. Stefan had nursed a crush on her for years after she had arrived in the Salvatore household, and while at first she had returned some of the feelings, she had eventually fallen in love with Damon. She was glad he was finally moving on.

As for Rebekah, the blonde had slowly been warming to her, especially after Elena had decided to back Rebekah in what Caroline had taken to calling “The Great Wedding Planning Betrayal of 2019” in their text conversations. As much as Elena loved Caroline, and she counted her other blonde sister-in-law as one of her closest friends, she needed Rebekah to like her. Clashing constantly with a Mikaelson sibling was not a path to success, and, to her delight, the strategy had worked. Rebekah had been grateful, and had actually referred to Elena by her name instead of “you there.” Baby steps.

 _Now if only controlling my brother was going as smoothly,_ she thought, looking around for him. He had been unpleasant and rude the entire night, but luckily it appeared that Damon and Elijah had gotten the word out ahead of time to not engage, because no matter what member of the criminal organizations Jeremy insulted, not one did anything more than communicate their condolences on the loss of the shipment. Still, it paid not to assume much, and Elena had spent most of her night ending possible arguments before they began and heading off potential targets.

Twisting her head, she caught sight of Jeremy walking purposefully towards someone. With a sinking feeling she caught sight of Alasdair Gordon’s white suit. The Gordons had been one of the people who had fastidiously avoided Jeremy, with them splitting up and one or the other never within 15 feet of Jeremy. It appeared now though that Jeremy was going to catch Alasdair unawares, and Elena hurried after him, trying to prevent this conversation from ever taking place.

Unfortunately, she could tell she was going to fail. Additionally, Jeremy had an unusual look on his face, one that was different from the “I’m gonna beat this bastard to a pulp” face he’d had on during the rest of the wedding. This was more of a calculating look. On a hunch she arrived at the table next to them and stopped where she could hear them.

“Jeremy,” Alasdair said, doing an admirable job attempting to stop the sigh from escaping into his tone, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Alasdair!” Jeremy replied. “Loving the suit. What is that, silk?” Elena winced. That was quite possibly the worst attempt at buttering someone up she’d ever heard.

Evidently Alasdair also saw right through it. “You can cut the flattery, you’re shit at it,” the Mikaelson Spymaster said. “What do you want, Jeremy?”

“You know my shipment was jacked,” Jeremy said urgently.

“I do,” Alasdair said.

“And I assume you know how important that shipment was to me,” Jeremy continued.

“I have some idea yes,” Alasdair said evenly.

“And you know that Damon and your bosses have refused to strike back at the Bennetinos and Lockwoods for this.”

Alasdair didn’t fight the sigh this time. “Is there a point to this Jeremy, or is this listing of stuff I already know another bad attempt at flattery?”

Jeremy leaned in, and Elena had to strain to hear what he said next. “So give me some info on the Bennetinos. Let me strike at them.”

Alasdair shook his head. “No, absolutely not,” he said. “We’re sticking with the original plan. You’ll get money from the rest, but your revenge will be us winning the war.”

“Come on Alasdair,” Jeremy said. “I need to be able to strike back. It’s important for my men. I’m young, I need to be strong and capable. And besides, this won’t involve any Mikaelsons, or Salvatores. It’ll just be me and my men taking revenge. Come on man, just give me something.”

Alasdair looked around, and Elena could sense from the frustration on his face that he just wanted to be done with this conversation. “Alright fine,” he said. “I may have gotten a tip that Papa Tunde would be meeting with someone to sell your stolen guns tonight, but-”

“Where?” Jeremy asked urgently.

“The abandoned warehouse where the Lockwoods do their drug deals, but Jer-”

However Jeremy had already taken off after getting the location.

“Jeremy I haven’t had time to vet it yet!” Alasdair called after him, before sighing. “Whatever”

But Elena had moved in soon after her brother had left. “What do you mean?” she asked Alasdair.

“What?” he asked her, evidently not realizing she had been there.

“What does ‘I haven’t had time to vet it yet’ mean?” she said.

“It means when I get a huge tip like that I never take it at face value. I always vet it, corroborate the information with other channels, make sure it’s legit. This came in late and I didn’t have time to do that though, so I just discarded it because-”

“Because it might be a trap,” Elena finished for him, and he nodded, slightly uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to say something else but Elena was already hurrying after Jeremy, pushing past people in a rush to find her baby brother and stop him before he did something stupid.

But when she got outside Jeremy was already driving off with some men on their motorcycles. Turning around frantically, she caught sight of Vito, who had been politely asked to stand outside to “coordinate security.”

“Follow my brother!” she commanded.

“Wha-” he began but she cut him off.

“He might be headed into a trap, so grab Enzo and some men and get into cars and follow him and make sure he stays alive, for fuck’s sake!” she yelled, as Vito stood there, frozen.

“Now!” she yelled at him. “Premesti go maneken!” she continued, lapsing into her native Bulgarian for the first time since her childhood as Vito finally sprang into action, calling orders and yelling for the cars. Elena just stood on the sidewalk, hand on her forehead as she prayed for her brother’s safety.

 

\----------

 

Jeremy rode his motorcycle, 4 men behind him. It was a little small of a force to attack a deal, but he had surprise on his side, which should count for everything. Besides, he couldn’t ask for more men, as he knew his request would be denied.

Those assholes. His losses were about so much more than just the guns and bribes. These were supposed to open new pathways and trade routes. The expected increase in profit had been projected to quintuple his earnings. To ask him to just sit tight was ridiculous, and he was glad he’d been able to make Alasdair see reason.

They pulled up to the warehouse. It was quiet on the outside, but then again, deals like these usually were quiet. He leaned against the door with the rest of his men, trying to listen for a sound. He was still dressed in his tux from the wedding, and only armed with a pistol. His men, however, were in dark leather jackets with automatic weapons. Then he heard it. Voices. There was a deal going on. Nodding to his men, he counted out with his fingers. One. Two. Three.

They crashed through the door, weapons up, ready to spray lead. Inside the warehouse was mostly abandoned, except for a chair in the middle. And on that chair a phone playing a recording, a recording that as he got close enough to hear made his blood run cold with recognition.

“Good night Jeremy Petrova,” an African voice said in the recording.

“It’s a trap!” he yelled, as gunfire erupted from all around. He whirled, watching his men get cut down in seconds. He started running towards the exit, seeing his bike, seeing safety. Seeing the headlights of Alfa Romeos, Salvatore reinforcements, his salvation.

But he only got two steps before two bullets slammed into his chest and he hit the floor. He lay there, hearing the bullets whiz about, hearing Vito Santini call his name. He heard the gunfire cut off as the Bennetino men either fled or were cut down. He saw the face of Lorenzo St. John above him, felt Enzo’s hands check his wounds and pulse.

“Jeremy, Jeremy stay with me mate,” Enzo said, trying to staunch the bleeding. Jeremy tried to speak up, tried to tell him it was useless, but everything hurt, and he just ended up spitting blood.

“Hey rest easy there mate you’re going to be fine,” Enzo reassured him, but the words seemed to be far away, as if he were at the end of a long tunnel. “We’re gonna get you home…” Enzo’s words, like the pain, like everything else, faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Premesti go maneken!" = Move it dummy!


	13. When will you learn... that your actions have consequences!

**Chicago**

The Mikaelson study was a somber scene. Marcel Gerrard and David Lebonair were slouched against the wall, both intently focused on their shoes. Rhona was pacing near the back of the room, screwing and unscrewing her silencer. Kol was slouched in a chair to Elijah’s left, casually inspecting his nails. Klaus was to the right, brooding while staring at his older brother, with Caroline standing behind him, avoiding looking at anyone. Between the two youngest Mikaelson brothers was Alasdair, slumped forward in his chair, palms on his forehead, hair uncharacteristically ruffled. And in the center of it all, Elijah sat at the desk, phone in ear, listening to what his little sister had to say.

“Yes Rebekah I understand,” he said. “We’ll be there. Stay safe.” He placed the phone back down delicately, trying to contain his anger. “Jeremy’s funeral will take place tomorrow at 6. I expect everyone to attend.” Everyone nodded, no one daring to speak. Suddenly Elijah was unable to contain his rage, and grabbed a nearby bourbon glass and hurled it at the wall, shattering it. Standing up, he turned, placing a hand on the back of his chair while all activity in the room stilled. Elijah almost never got angry and he knew that people within their organization feared his anger more than Klaus’. He didn’t care.  _ Months _ of planning had nearly been undone in a single night of stupidity.

Turning, he pointed at the object of his ire, sitting in a pristine white suit. “You,” he said to Alasdair, with his voice quivering in rage.  _ “You _ are to blame for this.”

“Now brother, you can’t blame Alasdair, he-” Klaus began before Elijah silenced him.

“No, brother!” the elder Mikaelson leader roared. “I respect your loyalty to him, but I can blame him, and I do. You know Alasdair, I, more than perhaps anyone but Klaus, have defended you and your wife’s contributions to this family. I want to know what might have possessed someone so famously intelligent to do something so unbelievably stupid.”

Alasdair looked up, meeting Elijah’s gaze. He looked lost, his face a pale shade of his usual control and sophistication. This was a man who had been shaken to his core. “I don’t know Elijah,” he admitted. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Elijah repeated, once again struggling to contain his rage. “A mistake that has this alliance hanging by a thread. The Salvatores won’t even speak to us. They’re doing everything using Rebekah as an intermediary. Everything we have worked towards since Mikael died, nearly destroyed by your stupidity. No!” he shouted when it looked like Alasdair might speak again. “No more words from you, not until you give me a solution. You created this mess, now you’re going to clean it up. Leave, now.”

Alasdair got up to leave, looking like a kicked dog. Elijah felt no sympathy. He knew there had been nothing intentional behind Alasdair’s mistake, the man had worked just as hard as Elijah and Klaus organizing the alliance. Nevertheless, he had gotten overconfident, and had been sloppy.

After her husband left, Rhona strode up to Elijah. “Let me fix it,” she said, setting her hands against the desk. Elijah leaned back, considering it.

“And how would you do that?” he asked. “You’re a killer Rhona, not a diplomat.”

“By being a killer, and a peace offering,” she said. “Loan me to the Salvatores. Have them pick a target and I’ll eliminate it. When’s the last time you really set me loose? It’ll have the double value of increasing your prestige and reputation.”

Elijah considered it. As plans go, it wasn’t a bad one. They hadn’t unleashed the Angel of Death since Mikael’s death nearly six months ago. It wouldn’t hurt to remind their enemies of the weapons in their arsenal. Additionally, it wasn’t a small gesture, and Damon would know it. It could work.

“Coming to his rescue again, are you?” he said, and watched her straighten abruptly before continuing. “I’ll consider it. In the meantime, everyone but Klaus and David leave.” All but the two bosses cleared out, and David moved to sit where Kol left.

Elijah sighed, pouring himself the remaining glass of bourbon, considering it.

“It’s a good idea Elijah,” Klaus said.

“It is,” Elijah agreed, “But it won’t be enough. We need to talk about the war plan.”

Klaus’ brow furrowed, and Elijah could sense his brother’s famous stubbornness rising. “The plan to harass the shipping routes-”

“Was fine when we were in a commanding position,” Elijah interrupted, “but will no longer suffice. The Salvatores will be demanding an acceleration of events, and frankly I agree. We cannot let the lower street gangs see Jeremy’s death go unanswered, or they will see us as weak. We need something bigger than just a financial hit.”

“There was an idea that me and Kol had thrown around, for later in the game,” David said cautiously, “that might fit what you’re looking for.” Elijah considered his brother-in-law. David Lebonair was a slim, unassuming man who ruled his organization with a savage efficiency. The Lebonair boss had been a valuable ally ever since Hayley had married Elijah. He rarely weighed in on high level strategy, but when he did, blood tended to flow.

“Tell me.”

 

\----------

  
  


Rhona found her husband in their room, with his head in his hands. Her heart ached for him. As mad as she wanted to be at Elijah for yelling at Al, she couldn’t. Alasdair had screwed up, and that was the worst part.

He looked up at her when she walked in, red rimmed eyes denoting tears he’d held back until reaching the safety of the room. “I did it again R,” he said weakly, and her heart shattered at hearing the old nickname. He never used it anymore. The last time had been when his sister had died. She went to him, hugging him and letting him cry on her shoulder.

“It’s not your fault Al,” she said. “Jeremy should’ve known better than to trust that tip.”

Alasdair pulled away, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Don’t insult my intelligence Rhona,” he said hoarsely. “We’re both smarter than that. Yes Jeremy was a dumbass, but I should never have even told him it. Face it, I failed them. Again.”

“Hey,” she said, looking him in the eye. “New Orleans was not your fault. No one thinks it was, so stop blaming yourself. And as for this, we’ll fix it together, like we always do.”

He smiled weakly at her. “You volunteer yourself as a peace offering?” he asked, and chuckled at her confused expression. “I’m only sometimes stupid Rhona. It’s the obvious solution. Saving me again eh?”

She tousled his hair. “If I don’t, who else will?”

He leaned in to her shoulder. “Certainly not me,” he mumbled, and she closed her eyes again, wishing there was something she could do to take his pain away. He had suffered enough, he didn’t deserve this. She took his head in her hands, staring into his pained blue eyes.

“We will defeat our enemies,” she promised him. “One by one, my love, we’ll slay them all.”

 

\----------

 

Caroline entered her room to find Rhona wiping tears away from her eyes. Caroline raised her eyebrows in shock. The assassin was one of the toughest people Caroline knew, and she’d never seen Rhona even a little emotionally vulnerable.

“I didn’t even realize you could cry,” Caroline said, to which Rhona chuckled ruefully.

“Don’t tell anyone my secret,” she said, before sighing.

“How’s Al?” Caroline asked.

“A bit of a mess,” Rhona admitted, “but he’ll be fine. How’s Elena?”

Caroline grimaced when reminded of her sister-in-law. “She’s a wreck. Won’t return any of my texts, I had to break my cold shoulder with Damon. They’re all pretty pissed with Alasdair, and the rest of us too.”

Rhona smiled. “Us.”

“What?”

“You said ‘us’ when referring to the Mikaelsons,” Rhona explained.

“Oh,” Caroline said. She didn’t really know how she felt about that. Deciding to change the subject, she nodded towards the box of tissues. “Why were you crying? Didn’t think you liked Jeremy.”

“I didn’t,” Rhona said. She got up from the floor and sat on Caroline’s bed, leaning back against the headrest, staring at the ceiling. “You know he wasn’t the first guy who died after having a crush on me?”

Caroline shook her head. “Who?”

“Henrik,” Rhona said with a sad smile on her face.

“Klaus’ brother?” Caroline asked. “Wait that’s weird. Wasn’t he like 15?”

Rhona shrugged. “He was a teenager, I’m hot. You know as well as I do that teens tend to think with their dicks more than their brains. It wasn’t like he ever made a move or anything. He was a sweet kid, and it was just a harmless teenage crush. Anyways, all this has just reminded me of that night.”

Caroline didn’t have to ask what night Rhona was talking about. “Klaus told me more about how that happened. He still hasn’t told me what actually happened. What were you doing?”

“I was protecting Klaus,” Rhona said. “Alasdair got word the Rose Crew had flipped. It was too late to totally prevent a catastrophe, but it’s probably the only reason we’re not all dead. Me and Marcel escorted Klaus to a safe house while Alasdair went to get Henrik from a friend’s house. One of the Bennetino’s top capos, Papa Tunde, ran them off the road before they could get to the safehouse though. Alasdair tried to fight Tunde off, but he’d hit his head in the crash, and Tunde slashed his face to the bone and stabbed him. I think he thought he’d killed him, so he moved on to Henrik. Poor kid never stood a chance. I got there right after Tunde left. When I saw Al, covered in mud and blood, I thought-” Rhona’s voice broke, and Caroline’s bodyguard took a moment to compose herself before smiling weakly. “Well it’s not a memory I like repeating, hence the waterworks.”

Caroline nodded, before remembering something. “Back in the study Elijah mentioned something about you coming to Alasdair’s rescue again. Was he talking about that night too?”

“Yes,” Rhona said. “After I got Alasdair to the hospital, I found out he was going to be unprotected. Mikael, the bastard, had decided he wasn’t going to spare any men for the man who had failed to keep his son alive. After they stitched all up, I saw out the window Tunde and a bunch of men arrive and go into the hospital. I took Al’s cart, and wheeled him out the back entrance, stole an ambulance, and drove him to the safe house.”

“Damn,” Caroline said. That was impressive. The more she heard about it, the more she realized how influential that night in New Orleans had been for this family. “Were you the one who killed Mikael then? Because he wouldn’t protect Alasdair?”

Rhona gave Caroline an unreadable look. “What happened to Mikael in the end is not my secret to tell,” was all she said, before getting up to leave. “I’ll see you at the funeral, Caroline.”

 

\----------

 

Bonnie was sipping tea on the Lockwood rooftop deck, enjoying a morning brunch with Tyler. 

“Aren’t you worried about snipers?” she asked her husband.

He shook his head. “There aren’t any good vantage points nearby, plus we employ a permanent watcher for that sort of thing.”

Just then Vincent Griffith opened the door and came up to Bonnie. “It is done, Donita Bennetino. Everything worked out just as you had hoped. Jeremy Petrova is dead and the Salvatores and Mikaelsons are barely speaking to each other.”

“Excellent Vincent,” Bonnie said. “My congratulations on managing to manipulate the Vulture. I know that’s no small feat.”

Vincent shrugged. “He’s just a man,” he said. “And men make mistakes.”

“And inducing those mistakes is your specialty,” Bonnie said.

Vincent inclined his head. “Thank you for the compliment Donita.” Nodding at Tyler, he left the rooftop.

“What’s the next phase of the plan?” Tyler asked once Vincent had left.

“We wait and let the Mikaelsons and Salvatores weaken each other before going on the offensive again.” Bonnie replied.

Tyler frowned. “That doesn’t seem wise. Shouldn’t we strike while the iron’s hot, while they’re divided?”

Bonnie shook her head. “We could do that, but if we wait, they’ll become even more so. I know the Mikaelson brothers. They’re proud, stubborn. They won’t give up anything the Salvatores consider adequate compensation for what happened. If we’re lucky, it’ll even dissolve into war, and we can offer our services to the Salvatores.”

Tyler frowned. “What makes you so sure it’ll work like that?”

“Because it’s what my grandmother did in New Orleans,” Bonnie said. “The Mikaelsons destroyed their own marriage alliance once before. Who’s to say they won’t do it again?”


	14. Two bros, sittin in a hot tub, five feet apart cuz they're not gay

**Chicago**

Klaus despised funerals. He’d attended far too many over the past year or so. First Cami and Hope’s. Then Davina and Henrik in the wake of what happened in New Orleans. Then Mikael, though that had felt more like a celebration than anything else. There had been a bit of a break after that, but soon he was commiserating with Damon Salvatore over the loss of Zach Salvatore. Now, it was Jeremy Petrova they were lowering into a grave. He was sick of it.

This particular wedding had been decidedly awkward. It had been conducted in the Petrova family territory, and had been crawling with Bulgarians, nearly all of whom seemed to spend all their free time glaring at Klaus and his family. They had been slighted at nearly every opportunity, and it grated at Klaus. The Mikaelsons were Chicago royalty, the Petrovas barely nobility. Jeremy had gotten himself killed more than anything else. Still, they needed the Salvatores, and by extension the Petrovas. Much as he wished it were not so, they could not defeat the Bennetinos if they were also fighting the Salvatores.

So, here he was, crammed into a table in the back of the wake with the other members of his family. They had traveled light today. Him, Caroline, Elijah, Hayley, Kol, David, and Rhona were the only ones who had made the trip. The decision had been made to leave Alasdair at home, considering his presence would likely hamper the extremely delicate and important negotiations that were about to take place.

As if summoned by his thoughts, he noticed his little sister making her way towards them. In spite of the morbid occasion, his spirits lifted at the site of his baby sister and he felt an honest to goodness smile break out. 

“Little sister,” he greeted her, giving her a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“Well I never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to see you too Nik,” she replied. “It’s good to see all of you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Elijah said, giving her his own hug, “though I wish it were under less contentious circumstances.”

“As do I,” Rebekah said, sitting down. “Right then, let’s get this over with. I assume I don’t have to tell you that my new family is quite put out over how Jeremy’s death occurred. I hope you boys are prepared to offer something significant.”

“We are,” Elijah said. “Rest assured sister none of us have forgotten the importance of marriage alliances.”

Rebekah nodded, leaning back. “Well then, tell me. I am fully licensed to negotiate on behalf of my husband and his family.”

Elijah leaned forward. “First, we will assume full financial responsibility for covering the losses sustained by the Petrova organization during the theft of the arms deal.”

“A generous opening salvo,” Rebekah said mildly, “but I hope you have more. This isn’t the type of grievance that can be settled with cash.” Klaus watched his sister with respect. She was handling this very well. He had always assumed that his sister, while certainly intelligent, was one of those who had allowed herself to remain in the dark about the inner workings of the business. Clearly he had been mistaken. That, or the few days in the Salvatore house had been extremely illuminating. Either way, he was impressed.

Elijah was clearly impressed too, judging by the way he smiled softly as he continued. “Of course,” he said. “Our second offer is going an immediate and severe escalation of hostilities, to be provided by David and his people.” He gestured to his brother in law before continuing. “David is going to unleash the Wolves.” Klaus saw Rebekah’s eyebrows raise, and he understood why. ‘The Wolves’ were the two chief lieutenants of the Lebonair organizations, Jackson and Oliver Kenner. They were violent, crazy psychopaths known for going above and beyond the violence that was necessary.

“You’re taking over all the offensives?” Rebekah asked and David nodded. “Surely the Petrovas and Salvatores deserve to avenge their fallen.”

Elijah shook his head. “Your husband’s side of the family has borne the brunt of the losses so far. It’s time for us to step up, take the risks.” Rebekah pursed her lips, but nodded, and Elijah continued. “Finally, we will loan Rhona to the Salvatores, to eliminate a target of their choosing.”

Rebekah considered her brothers, then nodded. “Those are solid terms. I’ll take them back to Damon, but I think you just might pull this off, brothers.”

 

\----------

 

Rebekah had been surprised by her brothers’ generosity. Offering Rhona especially was a step farther than she had been expecting. Her brothers, especially Klaus, were not known for their understanding, and Rhona was an asset they kept extremely close to their vests. She had expected to be making several trips back and forth while they dithered. Now she wasn’t so sure.

She could tell by their reactions that the Salvatores were also expecting worse opening terms. Nearly the entire Salvatore organization was arrayed in front of her while she laid out the terms of her brothers. Stefan and Alaric were impressed with the offer, she could tell. Vito was not, the old man audibly scoffing when Rebekah mentioned Rhona. However, there were two men whose opinion actually mattered. The first was Nikola Fedotov. A cousin of the Petrovas, he had been appointed Jeremy’s replacement. He was a large man of few words, with a small burn mark under his eye. He had remained impassive while Rebekah laid out the offer, and at the end his eyes had slid to Damon. He would defer to the Salvatore boss in this.

Damon would be the decider. Rebekah watched her new brother-in-law. From what she had observed, his love for Elena was real and strong, and she knew the pain Elena was suffering hurt Damon deeply. Damon reminded her of Klaus, and she desperately hoped he followed her brother’s example and avoided engaging in self-destructive behavior. He had remained unreadable while she talked, but now it appeared he had made a decision.

“Your brothers have made a good offer Rebekah-” he began but was interrupted by Vito’s loud scoff.

“You can’t be ser-”

“Can it, old man,” Damon said, voice colored with an undercurrent of rage. “You are on thin ice as it is, given your slowness in responding to Jeremy’s need for security. Know your place and shut up.” Turning back to Rebekah, he continued, “As I was saying, your brothers’ offer was good, but I’d like to make an addition to it. Nikola here needs to cement his status as Jeremy’s replacement, and furthermore he would like some personal revenge not just for the death of Jeremy, but for the seizure of the arms that led to it. We were thinking of an attack on the Bennetino infrastructure in New Orleans. Our intelligence is lacking there, but I understand Alasdair still maintains something of a presence there. He can provide us with intel, as part of him making up for his role in Jeremy’s death.”

Rebekah was about to nod, but it appeared Vito had not learned his lesson. “This is ridiculous Damon!” he exploded. “They are not even willing to punish the guilty party, but you are accepting that and even asking for his help!”

“As much as I hate to agree with Vito,” Enzo cut in, the Salvatore capo having been silent so far, “it does seem a little hard to take their offers of condolences and atonement seriously when there isn’t any punishment meted out to the guilty.”

Damon and Stefan simultaneously opened their mouths to argue, but Rebekah had heard enough. “You would all do well to remember that my brothers and I are intimately familiar with the pain of losing a sibling,” she cut in, her voice thick with emotion, “as are Rhona and Alasdair. It is not a feeling we would wish on anyone and I can assure you everyone on my brother’s side of the organization is committed to making this right, none more so than Alasdair. He takes great pride in the reliability of his work and if anything this slip up will only increase that. I am happy to call him right now and put him on the phone with you Damon.”

“That would be lovely Rebekah, thank you,” Damon said. “As for the concerns laid out before this, I understand the desire for vengeance, but this is not the time to be fighting amongst ourselves. We are still in the midst of a war, and Alasdair, despite his regrettable mistake, is still an incredibly valuable asset, one I would be foolish not to use. And Vito,” he added, voice dropping dangerously low, “the next time you disobey me in public will be the last, understand?” The older capo nodded slowly and sat down. Meanwhile, Rebekah had reached Alasdair on the phone and handed it to Damon. Damon explained the situation to Alasdair, then handed the phone to Nikola after a brief exchange. It appeared that Alasdair had some information that suited their needs well, because the big Bulgarian had a smile on his face by end. Hanging up, he passed the phone back to Rebekah.

“Alasdair says Bennetinos have big shipment of coke coming in later this week,” he said. “Street value of $6 million.” There were a few low whistles around the table. 

“Very well,” Damon said. “Go back and tell your brothers about our additions. We’ll send Rhona with Nikola to NOLA. I have an idea who I want her to kill. Additionally, I have another condition. I like the idea of Lebonair letting his dogs loose on the Lockwoods, but I want Enzo to be part of the strategy of that arm of the war. I want him consulted on everything.”

Rebekah nodded and returned to her brothers. They took Damon’s additions in stride, as she suspected they would. Rhona murmured something about being glad to go back, and David simply nodded when Rebekah told him the last condition. David Lebonair creeped her out. A marriage to him had been on the cards for her some years ago, and she was very glad it hadn’t come to pass. Her marriage to Stefan wasn’t ideal, but at least Stefan was a nice guy, with human feelings and emotions. She was pretty sure she’d never seen David smile.

After agreeing to the terms, Klaus and Elijah rose and met their Salvatore counterpoints halfway across the hall. As she watched her brothers embrace her brother-in-law and husband, Rebekah smiled, satisfied in the knowledge that the alliance had been saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a while, school and stuff

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments always appreciated!


End file.
